Frost clung to her extremities, the last embers dying in front of her as she tried to steel against the wind and cold. Within a trench dug from the snow she had burned all that she could, even things in her pack to try and keep the fire going. However, it had been too long and now the fire was dying. Just above her icy abode a blizzard was whirling, having caught her unaware on the mountain. Weather could be fickle on mountains, but this had come early in the season than usual. Without proper provisions or supplies, all she could do was hope that the storm would fade and she could crawl out and shoot her flare for help.

But, now that her last lifeline was fading in front of her, she wasn't so confident that she could survive much longer without the miniscule warmth the embers in front of her provided. A shudder send frigid stabs of pain down her spine, the sensation fading into a dull throb as her breath misted in front of her. Eyes sweeping down, she glanced back at the fading glow of the charcoal and knew this was it. Her body was weak, her limbs stiff from behind huddle in this pit. When she died, the snow would cover her and create a snowy tomb which no one would find her in.

No, I want to be found. At the very least, she thought, forcing her legs to move. Her muscles screamed in protest, tight and unused. Crawling forward, she slipped out through the opening and onto the snowy bank outside of her shelter like a fox from a burrow. However, she possessed none of the finesse of a fox and futilely dragged herself up from the burrow and onto the soft downy powder in front of her.

Nothing was visible, the snow blinding her and robbing her of what few senses she possessed. An attempt was made to stand, but her feet slipped in the unpacked snow and she fell into its cool embrace. She didn't feel it's cold kiss, but instead felt as if her head had hit a pillow. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to lay down for a bit, to catch her breath before attempting to go another few steps.

She closed her eyes and exhaled softly.

She was warm. Between her fingers she could feel silky sheets slipping betwixt them like butter and the weight of a quilt over her chest. Stirring, her mind reeled, wondering how she had survived the deathly embrace of the snow.

"Rhaenys, they say you have been stirring in your sleep," a voice said gently, almost hopeful at the prospect. "I thought you were lost, after the..." the feminine tone trailed off, befitted with sorrow at the idea that this Rhaenys might not have come back.

Rhaenys? Who is Rhaenys?

"You were safe here for so long. Only a while longer we had hoped, but it seems that our liege may find another way to assume the throne without placing a Targaryen back at the seat," a hot, soft hand slid into her own and squeezed.

Targaryen. I know that name. Where do I know that name? she wondered silently, trying to open her eyes. Still, she was too weak and only had the strength to return the squeeze to the fair hand that was in hers. Perhaps a nurse had visited her in the hospital and was spouting nonsense or this was some other patient. Either way, there was a strange comfort in the earnesty and kindness in her words.

"Oh Rhaenys you can hear me," another hand was placed on top of hers. "Since your accident Eddard Stark has become Hand of the king. I feel that there may be a disquiet in the capitol soon as does Lady Olenna. But as long as King Robert sits on the throne, you are unsafe..."

The woman had little else to contribute that afternoon and thus, she laid in bed, unable to move or awaken. Still, she could hear the ongoings around her and from the sound of it, few people came to visit her. She could hear the ferreting of a nurse, often coming in to help her clean herself and to tidy the room. The only other person to visit her was the woman, who would pour soup down her throat and coax water, hoping just as much as her that her eyes would one day open.

One day, a new person entered, whose gait was dissimilar to the two who visited her. Heavier, the slight clinking of metal against metal. "Paxter I really believe she will awaken soon. Each day she grows stronger, I know that she can hear me too," the kind woman explained, hurrying over to the side of the bed to clutch at her hand desperately.

"You show too much attention to a daughter that is not even your own," the new person, Paxter said in an exasperated voice. "Perhaps we should have never taken her in. If anyone found out that we had her in our custody all these years-"

"Your aunt knew what she was doing when she helped the princess escape. Highgarden is too obvious a place to hide the girl, but us..." she shook her head and sighed.

"To what end? King Robert is in decent health and now Eddard Stark is his Hand. If she does awaken, what are we to do with her? Just allowing her to exist had garnered enough attention that she nearly got herself killed."

"Mace has sent word that two Targaryens exist in Pentos; Daenerys and Viserys. King Robert is still trying to have the children assassinated. But perhaps it might be safer for her to go with he family-"

"You just said yourself that King Robert is trying to have the two remaining Targaryens killed and you want to send Rhaenys there?"

"What good can she do here wasting away? I have prayed for clarity, but cannot find it. I think if she remains here she might try again to-" her voice dropped and she quivered at the thought.

"If she ever wakes again," Paxter said sternly, the scuffing of a heel turning telling her that he was about to depart. The door closed with a resounding click and a soft warble escaped the lips of the kind woman.

No, I will wake up. "I will," she managed, her voice cracking from the disuse of it. Her lids felt as if they had been cemented shut, but she forced them open. Pain blistered against her lids, as if she were ripping duct tape off them. For a few moments she was blind, the light slowly registering in her vision, her eyes focusing, the dimness of the room coming into perspective. Her room was not sterile, not white and hospital-like. Rather, she was in a large four poster bed where drapes of lavender enveloped her in a misty cocoon.

A woman knelt beside her, a fireplace roaring some feet behind her with an ornate mantle. Her hair was chestnut brown highlighted with grey streaks from age. Her verdant eyes turned up and sparkled in disbelief and amazement. She was pretty, crows feet crinkling the edges of her tearing eyes and laugh lines becoming more prominent as she flung herself onto the edge of the bed.

"I knew! I knew you would wake up! You are a survivor," the woman chuckled, her voice hitching between joyous hiccups.

Still, she felt perturbed by everything around her. This woman was not a nurse or a patient, she was in a fine dress made of a deep burgundy merlot, the bodice tight and the skirts ploofed. Even the room around her was so finely crafted and made that she felt queer. She had lived a modest life and had never known the finery that wealth could afford, but this was wrong. Everything in here was so... dated. Her mind flipped to the names given and the names she recognized.

Game of Thrones. Am I... In it? But I do not know who this woman is, I just thought her ramblings were craziness, she thought, disconcerted by everything around her. In fact, she was overwhelmed by the idea of somehow being in a show she had watched a couple of years ago. As most viewers, she had enjoyed the show on HBO, but she hadn't been incredibly fanatical. Nor had she read the books.

"Rhaenys?" the overjoyed woman seemed to notice that there was something in her countenance that wasn't right.

"Who are you? Where am I?"

A crestfallen expression overcame the woman, but she drew a deep breath and steadied herself. "They said you might not remember things..." she seemed to be speaking to herself in this particular moment. "I am Mina Redwyne and you are at The Arbor. You have lived here since the Rebellion when, our now, King Robert usurped the throne and murdered your family. Your father was heir to the throne, Rhaegar Targaryen."

She could recall very briefly of Daenerys' backstory and how all the Targaryen children had been murdered. She had not known their names or cared to, as it had just been a show. However, she knew that Rhaegar had a wife from Dorne and two children originally. Both were supposedly killed by Lannisters, the youngest child's head crushed by the Mountain. Of the Targaryens only Daenerys and Viserys were believed to have survived as they were transported across the Narrow Sea. Of this, she could remember.

"How am I alive?" she questioned, still trying to piece together the early bits of the show she hadn't watched in nearly a decade.

"We placed a girl in your position and bleached a strip of her hair to match yours. Then we dyed the ivory strands you had to be brown," Mina explained.

"So another child died in my stead?"

Mina pursed her lips. "The child was no one. You are a princess to a lost dynasty."

"A dynasty that is nearly extinct and those who do survive cling to their pennies in the East," she, Rhaenys, corrected sternly. "And what did you hope, that one day I would be able to come out of hiding and assume the throne?" It was a futile hope and she wondered what Mina had in the past that made her want Targaryens back on the throne. King Aerys was renowned for his madness and she doubted the Redwynes were treated that much better than other houses.

"That was the hope at first when we protected you. However, as the years passed and Westeros settled into the lofty reign of King Robert... He's not perfect, but he is much kinder than your late grandfather," Mina admitted, troubled by the idea of Aerys.

"And as... Paxter? ... As Paxter said, you're in danger as long as I exist here," Rhaenys observed.

"Yes but... I raised you, taught you like my own daughter... Do you not remember?" Mina clung to the edge of the duvet and her free hand.

"I am afraid not, but I do remember some things... I recall some history of Westeros, but very little of my own life," Rhaenys treaded carefully, being certain not to betray the fact that she was not the young woman Mina had raised. Whatever accident had happened to the girl, it was convenient enough that many thought she would lose her memory. "What happened to me? Why am I so ill?"

Mina withdrew slightly, the sheer remembrance of the ordeal causing the woman to tremble slightly. "You threw yourself down the stairs and split open your head."

"When? Why?"

"Months ago," Mina whispered, recoiling at the thought of it. "Because you were terribly depressed. All these years being trapped in the castle, unable to be yourself, unable to be a princess or a proper lady. You knew who you were and with that knowledge, you saw your life going nowhere, so... so you tried to take it."

Rhaenys pursed her lips, wondering about the troubled young woman who had been in this body before she occupied it. How would it feel to be trapped in a castle your entire life? Looking out and knowing that revealing yourself would only cause your death and that of the people who protected you? There would be no one to love, to marry, to have children with... All because you were a forgotten princess who was supposed to be dead. Before this, she had been a ranger, enjoying the freedom that her job had given her. It had been her death, but still she couldn't imagine being pent in one place her entire life.

"You said that I have family. Daenerys and Viserys."

"Y-yes, they're about your age. Viserys a little older and Daenerys your junior. Last we heard of them they were in Pentos," Mina explained.

"I should join them. At least in exile we can work to achieve something," Rhaenys said thoughtfully, keenly aware that Daenerys would gain her dragons. It was through her journeys in the East that Daenerys used violence to create her legacy. Perhaps if Rhaenys could nurture her, provide more diplomatic alternatives to the girl than burning her enemies... Maybe Daenerys wouldn't go mad.

"It's dangerous there," Mina gasped.

"And what would I achieve here except descending back into that same depression? I should do something with my legacy if I can or die trying to be a martyr," Rhaenys fronted, trying to make it seem as if her cause was the noble restoration of her house. If she wanted to survive and not be locked in a castle, going to Daenerys would be her best claim.

Mina remained quiet for a moment, openly displaying her trepidation at the idea of releasing Rhaenys upon the world. "You are still weak. You would need to be stronger and more learned. You say you recall some things, but not everything..."

"I can agree to this. I am very weak still," she could feel that her limbs lacked muscle. Laying in a bed for months had likely made her lame and she'd have to work at being able to walk, let alone ride and keep up with the Dothraki. "But can you promise me once I'm well enough that a ship can be spared to me to take me to Pentos?"

"I promise," Mina swore weakly.

This body was weak as she had expected. Rhaenys had barely been able to stand due to the atrophy in her limbs. Rebuilding the muscle was painful and embarrassing. Both Mina and the maid (Juniper was her name) had to hold her arms up and help support her walking. This went on for weeks, to the point that Rhaenys was beginning to lose hope that she'd ever be capable of walking out of her own room, let alone sitting a horse. Her head still pained her here and there, the thobbing at the back of her skull reminding her of the attempted suicide. Technically, the true Rhaenys had succeeded and now she, a woman from another reality, had to deal with the crippled body and recover it.

More than anything Rhaenys wanted to walk in the fresh air, feel the wind tousle her brown hair, breath in the brine from the nearby sea. A few times, Paxter had visited her, but there was little warmth in the man as there was in his wife. He was monitoring her progress, looking to see how close she was to leaving his family. She expected keeping her there was a weight that was unbearable because if she was discovered, his three children were also directly in the line of fire.

When she was not trying to struggle to walk, Rhaenys had books in her lap and was trying to soak in as much information as the Redwynes had to offer her. In her previous life she hadn't been the most studious type. She'd taken to adventure and the wilderness over textbooks. However, she'd always been a quick learner despite her dislike of books. Now, Rhaenys was keenly aware that knowledge was power and without it she was likely to get killed. Before, she had never feared not being smart enough to survive and that notion alone was enough to keep her reading codexes and histories of Westeros.

In truth, she found the tales interesting as she drew the lines between what she knew from the HBO television series of Game of Thrones and what she read. However, she also came to realize that the show had been simplified for viewers and the world that had been crafted by Martin was elaborate and realistic with so much rich history. She had no hope of learning it all, but she did attempt deciphering High Valyrian so that she might use the tongue to speak to Daenerys. In addition to learning as much as she could about the Targaryens, she read about dragons. How dragons were used in fighting pits, how they were caged, and how caging them made them grow small and weak until they could no longer produce offspring.

I wonder if Drogon was so unruly because of the chains she put on them. Then the other two were smaller because she locked them in a pyramid. If she put effort into training them instead of trying to change Essos... Rhaenys realized silently, folding through the pages of the literature on dragons. Their bones were still in the Red Keep, hidden beneath the castle because Robert loathed them so.

Within the next week she could stand on her own without the support of Mina or Juniper. Her first steps on her own was the beginning of victories for her. It was strange to think something as mundane as walking on her own again would rouse such feelings of happiness and pride. But with each strengthening step, she realized that walking and running would not be enough. Nor would being able to sit a horse. Rhaenys' skin was so soft and supple. The young woman had never ridden a horse before and the saddle sores were impossibly painful.

She wore a bonnet on the days she went out for riding, hiding her hair within it as she had stopped dying the ivory tendril that grew from behind her left ear and down with the rest of her mahogany waves. Her skin warmed at the touch of the sun, her Dornish blood basking in its glory.

"I must learn how to defend myself," Rhaenys had told Mina in earnest over afternoon tea. Her manners were still improving, as she'd not known any such table manners in her past life. "Even if I am allowed escorts, they will be one in a sea of foreign strangers."

"We have already decided to send Ser Yelshire and Norridge to be your guards. You shouldn't have much to worry about in their company," Mina expressed, dropping another cube of sugar into her tea and stirring with a nervous fervor.

"I'd rather be of assistance than a burden. Plus, I heard that Daenerys is to marry a Dothraki Khal... It is better that I can use a weapon when surrounded by so many savages, as I read they tend to take what they want," Rhaenys said smoothly, aware that the Dothraki wouldn't touch her since she was related to Daenerys, but that didn't need to be brought up. Mina only knew of Dothraki savagery and not the fact that they had a deeper culture than most Westerosi cared to acknowledge.

"I still am not fond of the idea of you trying to live among them," Mina whimpered, paling at the thought. She was a kind woman, but Rhaenys suspected she was also part of the reason why her predecessor had felt so hopeless. Mina was resigned to letting Rhaenys exist in quiet solitude, despite the danger it brought on others in her family.

"Could one of them teach me?"

"I'll inquire about it, but do not have high hopes. It is not typical of women to learn how to fight," Mina simpered as if the young woman had lost all common sense and did not recall basic Westerosi culture.

"The Sand Snakes in Dorne are an exception to this. They are my cousins are they not?" Be that they were bastards, but it wasn't atypical for Dornish women to pick up weapons should the need ever arise.

But there were no volunteers and as Rhaenys succeeded at learning how to ride well, the days leading to her departure drew ever closer. Items were requisitioned, though the Redwynes had a ship waiting for the journey across the Narrow Sea. Under the guise of transporting wine to Pentos, Rhaenys intended on arriving right for Daenerys' wedding to Khal Drogo. This meant that she could provide gifts of wine from the Arbor and promise that one day the Redwynes and Tyrells would pledge their allegiance underneath the Targaryens. Eventually, the Redwynes could also provide the ships to ferry over Daenerys' army.

Before her departure, Mina drew her back to that accursed room that had been like a cold stone prison cell. Despite how well furnished it was, that bed had been her ball and chain and her body's frailty had kept her in that prison. Even if the open sea wasn't forests and mountains, the idea of an adventure in a land she'd never thought she'd step foot in got her blood rushing.

Everything had been tidied up, the bed made and linens folded on top. However, on the edge of the bed were a few items. Mina drew up beside her, tittering like a little songbird as she flanked Rhaenys. As her posture got better, Rhaenys had come to realize she was a tall young woman, her hair long and thick, wafting down in waves of mahogany, albeit for the thick strip of starlight that grew from behind her left ear and met with the rest of her hair. She had the Dornish look, a lean frame from hard riding, warm mocha skin, dark winged brows, plump rosy lips, and keen lavender eyes.

"This... is what we managed as your inheritance from your family," Mina elaborated, gesturing to the small chests on the edge of the bed. "Go ahead and open them."

Rhaenys bent down and picked up the first, smallest chest. The box was smooth and polished, her thumb finding the groove which pushed in and opened it. Instead, a pendant was perched on a soft crimson pillow. Amber glinted in the dim light of the chamber and within the Sunspear of House Martell was carefully placed against a backing. Turning the circular amber medallion, she could see the small bubbles in the amber, but the clarity was still good. The pendant was attached to a long golden chain.

"It was your mother's. An item hastily discarded when her remains were given to King Robert. It was easy to secure it for you," Mina explained as Rhaenys took it and drew the chain over her head so the pendant bobbed against her breasts.

How odd it was to be in the body of one related to these people. Did the old Rhaenys also feel a slight disconnection? She wasn't more than 3 when her family had been murdered. Still, there was solace in wearing the necklace despite the disconnect she felt.

The second chest was larger and locked. The key was in place, which she turned and opened. Her breath caught in the back of her throat at the sight of what was in front of her. The dragon egg shimmered in the light, reflecting with a metallic hue as if the scales on the egg belonged to a real dragon. Beneath her fingers they were solid and stonelike despite the shine they cast, despite that she could feel a strange warmth as if the stone had been left in the sun. Dark brown scales were flecked with gold and cream streaks, webbing on it like veins.

"It was one of the remaining seven. Paxter has not told me how we came to acquire it, but that it belonged to your father and now you. It cannot do much, I'm afraid it's nothing more than a parchment weight," Mina admitted, admiring the beauty of the egg.

And yet, you don't know how wrong you are, Rhaenys said silently, wondering if this dragon egg would hatch just as Daenerys' would. Only time would reveal if the brown egg would also hatch. Still the fact that there was another outside of the 3 eggs she knew of, Rhaenys couldn't help but feel a strange amazement. She had only ever heard of the rumor of there being a cache of eggs in Dragonstone, of which no one could confirm.

The last box was not an heirloom, but something that Mina seemed to have had made. Within, the fabric was light and flowing, a long sleeved blouse, a long skirt plaited in the middle with slits on the side, and loose trousers that went beneath and tapered at the ankle. A shawl, scarf, and sash were also included in the attire. The detailing and colors were modest, the majority of it being a simple cream. The sashes and shawls were a vivid burnt orange.

"The Dothraki Sea is unkind to Westerosi attire. I thought this might be better for you to wear while riding," Mina told her thoughtfully.

"Thank you, I think that this will serve me well," Rhaenys admitted, glad she wouldn't have to try and find some Dothraki attire that was more suited for the heat of the plains.

"I still cannot believe it. You're leaving," Mina warbled, fussing over Rhaenys' hair.

"Whatever destiny is intended for me awaits. I achieve nothing by lingering here," Rhaenys reminded the woman.

"I know, I just... Never thought the day would come. Part of me believed you wouldn't wake up," Mina admitted, dropping her hands to grasp Rhaenys'.

"Hopefully, one day we will be reunited and I won't have to hide in the shadows."

The ship was waiting in the harbor. Rhaenys tucked away her necklace and kept her hair tied beneath her cloak as they traveled down to the port with an ensemble of Redwyne guards. In attendance with her was Lord Paxter and Lady Mina, also riding their own horses as the noble entourage approached a Redwyne ship. Crew members were scurrying around as their liege approached, making certain that the last arrangements were in place and that they were set to leave as soon as possible.

"The casks will sell well in Pentos. Take a few to your destination as a gift," Lord Paxter advised Rhaenys as she dismounted swiftly from her horse. He followed soon thereafter, but gave his wife a hard look. They had already said their goodbyes and did not wish to draw attention by a tearful farewell in the port. Who knew who was watching. "On board you will find your guard there as well. Safe journeys."

Rhaenys nodded solemnly and slung her pack over her shoulder. "Thank you, my lord. I shall never forget your hospitality."

Paxter pursed his lips and nodded, resigning himself as Rhaenys spared one more glance at Mina and turned. The wine cog sagged in the ocean in front of her, the burnished wood glinting in the sunlight. A fresh breeze listed toward her and she felt it deep in her soul. With it came the stench of freshly caught fish and brine. Despite it, Rhaenys smiled to herself and scaled the boardwalk onto the ship. It moved gently beneath her feet, the mild movement lethargic and comforting.

"You must be our Lady Flowers," the captain approached in dark blue finery, removing his hat to give her a polite bow.

As long as she was in Westeros she was still going as a bastard.

"Yes, I trust my quarters are around here somewhere?"

"Of course, right this way, my lady," the captain gestured across the deck and toward a cabin that was on the main deck. "Hopefully, you will find it to your standards. I believe there are some knights waiting inside. If you require anything, I am Captain Ellerick."

"Thank you, Captain," Rhaenys replied evenly before opening the door to the cabin. Just as Ellerick had warned her, there were a few men waiting inside. However, by her count there was more than the two she had been promised. Closing the door behind her with a resounding click, she set her eyes ahead on them. Each was dressed in a nondescript manner and she had not met her guards before this point.

"Greetings princess," the knight in the middle took his knee first, a hand upon his breast as he bowed his head slightly. The other two followed suit.

"Hello, please stand," she returned, feeling disconcerted by people stooping in front of her. Call it the American in her, but the idea of it made her stomach turn. Until this point she hadn't really dealt with too many formalities other than using titles for Paxter and Mina when required. "You all are very aware of who I am, but while we are still in Westeros, please refer to me by Lady Ashara Flowers." An homage to the Daynes, for which her violet eyes might be explained if she happened to be a bastard from House Dayne.

"A pleasure. My companions are Ser Yelshire and Ser Norridge, as you are aware," the middle knight gestured to each man in respect.

Ser Yelshire was built like a cask with a thick barrel chest and stout legs. Hairy arms stuck out from underneath pushed up sleeves and he only had a crown of hair remaining. In spite of his lack of hair, his face was almost jolly, eyes set and squashed beneath his brows. He had a thick mustache over his mouth, which was long enough to hide his lower lip. He gave her a polite nod at the gesture toward him.

The latter, Norridge, was considerably younger than the portly knight. He was of average height, his face narrow and long like a horse's. He had the wisps of a beard that refused to grow and was probably just freshly a man grown. His hair was russet, a short shorn mess that had been done sloppily and probably by himself with a knife. Glancing down his nose with a bored expression he gave her a nonchalant and less polite look of acknowledgement than Ser Yelshire.

"And yourself, ser? As I recall, I was only to have these two escorts," Rhaenys observed sternly.

"Ah yes, well my addition was rather last minute. I am Ser Garlan Tyrell," he introduced.

A pin could have been heard dropping in the room as Rhaenys' violet eyes burned on him. Tyrell? And the second son of Mace? What kind of ploy was this? At least these knights from lesser houses were not as much of a threat, but Garlan Tyrell was supposed to be getting married soon unless...

Unless the engagement was broken off so that he could be by my side come our endeavors. The Tyrells want to be certain they have their chess pieces in the right place and who sits on the throne, Rhaenys realized silently, wondering if Olenna had truly thought that far ahead.

Garlan Tyrell was a very handsome knight. He was tall, broad, and well built. His shoulder length curls of chestnut hair were brought back and tied off at the nape of his neck. He had a full beard, which was carefully groomed and kept thick, but close to his face. Strong brows hooded over bright apple green eyes.

And yet his very presence irritated her, because she knew that his sister, Margaery, would sit the throne before Daenerys. This meant that what loyalty he had might flip and he couldn't be trusted. Still, it was a shame that such a handsome face could be little more than a shield until the date came when his loyalties went back to his own family. She wouldn't particularly blame him for that. Still, Olenna's active meddling in the affairs in Essos did bring worry to Rhaenys that more changes to the storyline might happen than she intended.

"A pleasant surprise," Rhaenys said finally after the long silence. "I am engaged to have you all in my service. I am rather easy to get along with and I hope I shall get to know each of you a little better while we are on this long journey to Pentos. But please, relax, you may know who I am, but we are outside of the formalities of a court and I think, for the long road we may endure together, that I'd like to have friends, not just guards."

"Of course, your gr-er, my lady. The journey shall be long and it's a miracle you're here at all," Ser Yelshire spoke eloquently, his mustache quivering as if he were a walrus. "One day your family shall sit the throne again."

Rhaenys raised her hand to halt him. "Ser, I do not want you to whisper me sweet nothings about how I'll one day obtain the throne. Let us be realistic, I have less claim than Viserys Targaryen because I am female. He is a beggar king. Small folk do not embroider Targaryen flags and hide them. I am not disillusioned thinking that Westeros really wants the Targaryen empire to reign again. However, if we do one day come to a point where we have a chance to, I do not plan for that Dynasty to repeat the same atrocities as my grandfather, the Mad King.

"The small folk pray for simple things and I hope that I can live in Westeros where they aren't being caught between the wars of nobles. No one suffers worse in war than the people who built the Seven Kingdoms."

"You are very empathetic, my lady," Ser Garlan retorted respectfully.

"And hopefully realistic as well. I know that the path back to Westeros will have to be earned, not bought or threatened. It's a huge undertaking, who knows if I ever will be able to return," she shrugged, but a small smile curved the corners of her lips.