The next week passes in a flurry of activity.
Ostara visits the Flea Bottom again, only this time she brings bread and clothing that she's found and duplicated. She passes the food and clothing out to the common folk that need it along with Cerys while Melisandre preaches to those who will listen. Many of the common folk seem rather happy that she's showing interest in their personal plights whenever she speaks to them about the happenings of Flea Bottom under the watchful eye of Daevyn and Lewyn, who stand silently and imposing only a few feet away.
When she's not establishing herself with the common folk or spending time with the children at the orphanage, Ostara finds herself in Valyria with her dragons; practicing new magics and looking for anything she can find that mentions the Others. While there isn't much she does find a few books focused on the history around the time Azor Ahai was first alive.
While she reads she listens to her dragons.
The little beasties have been more excitable then usual, alternatively muttering about siblings and power and gold.
It makes Ostara a bit nervous, and so she keeps one eye on her dragons at all times whenever she visits them. Not because she doesn't trust them, but because she's not a dragon. She has no idea if this behavior is acceptable or not and she'd really rather not have her children do something that will get them killed... Or injured. Neither is good and avoiding such an outcome would be best.
But they've reached a stage similar to the 'awkward teenage' stage that most animals tend to go through. Heads too angular, bodies too lanky, wings growing to accommodate the nearly excessive amount of body mass the dragons are slowly begin to acquire with their growth spurts. Ostara's been forced to take more gold from the other keeps in Valyria to tend to their needs as well as provide more food.
Thankfully, they've begun going out to hunt on their own.
Ostara's read more books about dragons then she honestly knows what to do with and at this point the only similarity between Targaryen dragons and her dragons is the need for food and space to grow. And seeing as the books have stopped offering her anything worthwhile Ostara has stopped relying on them as much as she had in the beginning when her dragons had been young.
Now she spends more time with them doing things that, seemingly, make them happy.
Like right now.
Ostara finds herself standing on a little stretch of sand and sea, the legs of her pants rolled up to just under her knees, and her shirt sleeves wet as she digs for shells while Janus, Milren, and Orlaith dart between playing in the water to shooting through the air.
Mother! Milren trills as he swoops down to hover near her body. Join us.
"I can't fly like you can." Ostara intones as she tosses a chunk of sea glass into a bucket she's transfigured.
Then I shall carry you, Orlaith says while dropping down onto the sand and extending a wing out so that it's no longer obscuring her side.
"You're too small right now. When you're bigger I'll figure out a way to make myself a little saddle and we'll try flying together." Ostara promises, smiling kindly at the red and gold dragon.
Saddle? What is a saddle?
Ostara casts Janus a look before replying, "A saddle is essentially a leather seat that people ride in to help them stay on their mounts... Some people ride bareback but I find it too difficult to stay balanced."
A series of high pitched trills tells the young witch that she's thoroughly amused her dragons.
You do not need a saddle, Milren say. You are our mother, we would not let you fall.
"There are some things that are not in your control." Ostara says, mind drifting to all the different ways she and her dragons could end up hurt.
Ostara's never been in the air before. She isn't sure she shares the same fear for flying that Hermione Granger had carried with her through the short duration of her life. Thus far heights haven't bothered her and her dragons seem so determined to keep her safe, so it's a comfort her previous incarnation hadn't been able to keep close to her heart... But still, nothing is ever certain.
What would be out of our control mother? The sky is our home, we were born to fly and our wings are steady.
"If someone were to see you they may grow frightened and where better to hunt for dragons then Valyria? They could kill me, kill you, or find a way to separate us and take you far away."
A stretch, but not impossible.
Nothing is impossible, as Ostara has come to learn.
Weak men cannot kill a dragon, mother, Orlaith snarls, and you are just as much a dragon as we are.
"Weak men can do a lot of things if they're scared enough." Ostara tells them, tucking an escaped curl behind her ear. "Years ago the Targaryens of Westeros had dragons, they were kept in a dragonpit... During a siege on the pit common folk slaughtered the guards protecting the pit and then proceeded to kill the dragons within. Many of the common folk died during the attack but in the end the dragons weren't strong enough to break free of their chains and so they were slaughtered as well."
The only sound between them is the crash of waves against the shore and the distant cry of seagulls who are too afraid of the dragons on the beach to come close enough to be a bother.
Ostara takes a moment to study her dragons.
Orlaith is a striking sort of beauty with red and gold scales that shine in whatever light manages to touch them and her horns. She's the biggest of the three but that's not uncommon among female dragons. She's also the most aggressive. Janus is beautiful too, in a different way. His scales are darkest ebony that only seems to make the purple of his spikes and his eyes seem too vibrant. So different from Milren's pearly coloring and delicate build.
None of them are fragile creatures and Ostara can see why they would be so sure of their own ability.
Were they magical bonds that kept those dragons trapped? Milren's remark startles Ostara, Goblin made and enchanted?
"No, I don't believe so."
Then they did not deserve to live. Milren shakes his head and turns to level Ostara with an opalescent stare. Only the strong survive mother. The weak die but the strong remain. We are the strong, mother, and the strong protect each other.
Ostara nods hesitantly, not sure if it's an appropriate response but it seems to please the three dragons because they close ranks around her and slowly press their noses to various parts of Ostara's body, breathing in deeply and letting out nearly scorching puffs of red.
She doesn't know what to do with herself.
So she ends up curling her arms around Janus' head and offering a makeshift hug that brings very little comfort to the witch but quite a bit to the three dragons that have pressed in around her.
~X~
"You seem anxious today Ostara."
Ostara looks up from the letter she's been going over to meet the concerned gaze of the Queen.
"I'm quite alright, Your Grace." Ostara promises as she rearranges her parchments before carefully rolling them up.
She ties them off with a bit of grey ribbon and tucks them into her embroidery basket with her threads, needles, and fabric scraps. No one with mess with them while they're in the basket and none of the Queen's other Ladies-in-Waiting are around yet to pry into Ostara's personal business... Not that they would anyway, they're all too afraid of Rubeus to attempt something like that. But for another few minutes it's just Ostara and the Queen, which is perfectly alright with Ostara.
"Are you certain? You look pale?" Rhaella comments.
"I was just reading a letter from Stannis." Ostara replies.
This seems to surprise the Queen because her eyes widen and she sits a bit straighter before speaking. "Oh? How is your brother? I believe he is fostering with under Lord Morrigen is he not?"
Ostara bites the inside of her cheek before nodding.
"Yes, your Majesty, he was just telling me of his training."
While she's not lying about the letter being from Stannis she doesn't tell the Queen that her twin had been moaning about how unfortunate it is that he wasn't blessed with her particular skill set. Apparently, it would be so much easier to train if he had magic. He'd never lose. Ostara has every intention of telling her brother that those who rely too heavily on magic end up forgetting that there are physical attacks at some point or another.
Telling the Queen about her magic and Stannis' knowledge of it might not be the best idea. She doesn't know the Queen well enough to say whether or not she's trustworthy and Ostara doesn't have enough support from the common folk or the court members of King's Landing to expose herself yet... If she were to tell Rhaella what all Stannis had to say it could end up being very beneficial or very detrimental to Ostara's health. No matter what Ostara will not put Stannis' life in danger.
A likely outcome should the Queen be a vicious harpy in disguise.
"It is good that you share such a close bond with your siblings, Ostara," Rhaella says and her eyes are sad. "I had hoped to give Rhaegar many siblings to play with but alas... Perhaps he will be able to boast what Aerys and I could not."
"Perhaps." Ostara agrees, unwilling to fall into the maybe-trap Rhaella has just placed at her feet.
No one's spoken of a betrothal being finalized between her and Rhaegar, honestly Ostara couldn't care less what Aerys or any other member of course try to force her into. Ostara won't marry Rhaegar if she doesn't want to. Forcing her into anything will only prove fruitless on their parts and it wouldn't be any skin off Ostara's back.
Rhaella smiles widely and inclines her head, "One can only hope that the Gods smile down upon him and his bride."
Ostara nods slowly before turning her attention to the needlework she'd started days ago, effectively ending the conversation before she ends up saying anything nasty to the Queen that she can't play off or take back..
Dragon scales, she's come to realize, are incredibly hard to replicate on fabric.
This world doesn't have access to all of the dyes Ostara would need to recreate any of her dragon's scales. On top of that, it's incredibly difficult for Ostara to stitch with the exact precision needed to replicate Orlaith's wings or Janus' tail or Milren's neck. She's just not a talented enough embroiderer for all that nonsense... But she tries anyway. It's not like anyone is going to see it aside form herself. If she were going to gift it to someone then perhaps she would use her magic to make it more beautiful but there's really no point to that if she isn't going to.
Several minutes pass in relative silence between the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Ostara before the other Ladies-in-waiting finally wander into the shade cast by the Queen's sun shelter. The canvas has been dyed a deep red with black dragon motifs painted here and there. Very extravagant. Ostara likes it, which is saying something because she's starting to think that the dragon motifs in this place are getting a little old.
At least her father hadn't forced the entire household to decorate Storm's End in golds and black, or covered the walls with dead stags. There are banners, yes, but those are mostly contained to the parapets and the great hall. The various personal chambers found within the keep had been decorated a bit more subtly.
It's just a bit exhausting to see the same colors and decor every single day.
Fortunately so her there are ways to combat the near constant repetitiveness of her life as of late. Valyria is very pretty after all, and as soon as she finds a safe way to get there Ostara is going North. Beyond the Wall, into the eternal winter where the three-eyed crow waits for her and calls for her in her dreams.
~X~
"Is that how we hold a quarterstaff, Ostara?" Daevyn asks later that day as he and Ostara train in one of the quieter areas of King's Landing.
He'd been the one to find the piece of land jutting out from the gardens to meet the sea and had determined it private enough to use for training. Ostara thinks that at one point it might have been used for some sort of Lady's activity? It's not close enough to the barracks to be a obscure part of the training yard and there aren't even benches for anyone to sit on.
Ostara winces as something smacks into the side of her thigh.
"That was childish." She tells Daevyn as she readjusts her grip on her staff.
Her Dornish friend shrugs.
"If you'd been paying any attention to your lesson then perhaps you would have blocked it."
Ostara glares as she moves to duck under the heavy wooden staff end that Daevyn swings at her head. She thinks that if he weren't trying to teach her the staff, that if they were enemies, then he wouldn't have had any trouble smashing her temple in. Thankfully, this is a new weapon and Daevyn is being sure to take things slowly until she'd better acquainted with the staff.
"Why is it you wish to teach me this skill anyway?" Ostara asks as she advances toward her teacher. "It's not like I'm going to just pick up a quarterstaff one day and start swinging."
"No, but you might find yourself in a position where you have nothing but a staff to defend yourself with." He swipes at her ankles, Ostara deftly jumps over the wood and shifts away. "It is not like a spear, there is no metal with which you may stab your opponent."
"So I'm going to be using blunt force trauma to kill my enemies? Lovely."
Daevyn strikes her in the side, driving the air from her lungs very briefly. Panting heavily Ostara shifts her grip on the quarterstaff so that she can hold it in one hand while her other wraps around her side to check for any broken bones. As she pours her magic into the space, finding nothing broken or cracked, Ostara takes a jab at Daevyn's throat.
That's something else he taught her; fight dirty.
Of course, she'd already known that people on the battlefield weren't always going to be honorable. Too many years of fighting had ruined that fancy bit of ideology for her. But Daevyn had insisted that some of their lessons be focused on the areas of the body that hurt the most, bled the most, and caused other little bits of nasty damage to the body. Ostara had found it interesting enough but she's never had a live demonstration, which is why she finds herself revealed when her attempted at hitting Daevyn's laryngeal prominence proves fruitless.
"Or you could damage there airways." Daevyn comments dryly before lunging for her shoulder.
Ostara spins out of the way, raises her staff, and only just manages to bring it down on Daevyn's rump as he shoots past.
Watching as the older man slows to a trot and then a walk Ostara wonders if she's getting better or if Daevyn's distracted. He's never just let her land a blow for the fun of it, finding that such an act doesn't do anything for either of them. There could be something on his mind, however, something distracting enough for him to loose focus every now and again.
That, or Ostara's just gotten better.
Tossing the staff between hands Ostara bends her knees and plants her feet on the ground. One's stance is very important after all. Ostara's less likely to lose her balance if she's got her body exactly where it needs to be at all times and she's been made painfully aware of that over the years. Daevyn's taught her well, there's more to learn she knows but as of now she's at a place in her life where Ostara feel confident enough to say that she's good.
This time when Daevyn comes running at her again Ostara spins away from him, ducking and weaving under his attacks to get away from him so that she can get a good hit in. She isn't aware that he's driving her closer to the ledge that's meant to keep them from falling into the sea until her knees hit it and she almost topples over backwards. The only thing that stops her is Daevyn's hand curling around the front of her shirt just in time to pull her to safety.
"Dead." Daevyn says once Ostara's gotten her feet under her.
"You would have been dead earlier." Ostara retorts as she flexes her hand to fight off the cramp forming there.
Across from her Daevyn shrugs, "Perhaps. What did you do wrong?"
"I wasn't paying attention to where I was going."
"Yes." Daevyn reaches out to place his hand on the top of her head, looking deep into her eyes as he says, "You are a good fighter, Ostara, but do not allow your opponents to trick you into thinking them less skilled then you."
"Is that what you were doing? Stumbling around and acting foolishly to distract me?"
"Something like that." The man pulls away with a mischievous grin. "You did well today, Ostara."
Ostara thanks him with a bright eyed smile and the two gather their things before making their way back into the Red Keep.
~X~
Under the rule of Aerys II Targaryen the Small Council consists of seven men. None of whom Ostara knows well enough to judge based on true character, at this point she is left with little choice but to gain allies in high places and some of the highest are in the Small Council. The more support she has from the people in power within the Keep the more likely it is that Ostara will be able to get what she wants.
But who to go to?
Not Pycelle, the man holds power - this is true- but he is not a trustworthy man and Ostara suspects that his loyalties have already been bought. He is also, Ostara has heard, a lecher; touching young Ladies inappropriately when they come seeking his aid. Ostara will not lower herself so low just to gain him as a tentative ally... While she will have to speak with him on occasion she does not need him to support her.
So where does that leave her?
Qarlton Chelsted, the current Master of Coin, might be a good man to covet considering his job. Ostara may be able to speak with him privately about the state of the treasury... She's heard no rumors that the crown is borrowing more money then it can pay back but she's aware that coin is not always the easiest to acquire and that at some point more coin will be needed.
The Master of Laws, Symond Staunton, is also someone Ostara wishes to curry favor with. Some of the laws in Westeros are barbaric and, undoubtedly, patriarchal in their nature. They are not laws that favor women or children and that is something Ostara wishes to change. Soon. Very soon if she can help it. While she has no idea of whether or not Symond Staunton is a sexist bastard himself she feels that convincing him that certain laws need to be changed could be rather easy.
And who else could she talk to? Lucerys Velaryon? He is the Master of Ships and while a man loyal to the Targaryens Ostara has stayed far away from the Velaryons for no other reason then to avoid the fact that the Velaryons and Renaehra are distantly related through a woman of Renaehra's family who married a man who became a forgotten ancestor of Lucerys. Or something. The memories of Renaehra's education are vague and much of the oral histories lost.
Ostara doubts the Velaryon family would even know who Renaehra was... But Ostara has yet to decide whether she wishes to foster a friendship with Lyra, Lord Velaryon's third child who is of a similar age to Ostara.
Sighing, Ostara glances down the corridor just in time to see Rhaegar stride past. He hadn't noticed her, his eyes focused on the parchment in his hands, but Ostara realizes almost violently that if she wants to get anything done in this cesspit of a city she's going to have to get the approval of two of the most important people in it. Fortunately for her, she's known Rhaegar longer then she's known Aerys and has very little hesitation over speaking to him.
So she doesn't hesitate to gather her skirts and rush down the corridor after him.
"Rhaegar?" She calls softly when she's close enough to drop her skirts and briskly make her way toward his suddenly still dorm. "Do you have a moment to speak with an old friend?"
The prince in question looks up from his parchment, solemn face and kind eyes softening as he smiles. He offers a polite bow of the head as he rolls up his parchment and clasps it behind his back.
"Of course, would you like to walk with me?" He asks, offering his arm like a proper gentleman.
Ostara takes it with a pristine smile.
"I'll admit this isn't a social visit." She says after a short moment.
"I did not assume it was. You very rarely seek me out Ostara." Rhaegar responds though there is no unkindness in his tone that Ostara can detect.
"Yes, well, I apologize for that... I've never considered myself the type of person to neglect my friends." She's being truthful, something she's finding isn't common here in King's Landing.
There are only so many people you can trust in a place like this, after all.
To a certain degree Rhaegar just so happens to be one of them.
"It's of little consequence." Rhaegar says before smiling. "What did you wish to speak to me about?"
"I have become a patron of the orphanage in Flea Bottom. I wish to educate the children there but in order to do so I require the support of the royal family." Ostara says as she allows Rhaegar to guide her about.
Beside her, Rhaegar nods slowly before asking, "Do you think it will be beneficial to the people?"
"Do you think I would put so much effort into something I didn't think was going to work, Rhaegar?"
"Have you spoken to Tywin?" Rhaegar asks.
"No, the people hold no true ill will for Lord Lannister but we both know that it's you they prefer. I came to you because I am just as aware of this as the rest of your family."
"Bold words, Lady Ostara." Rheagar remarks quietly.
"Are they? I've heard nothing about you from the common folk but good things. They adore you, a good thing considering you'll be their King one day." Ostara replies with a scoff.
Rhaegar pauses for a moment, wide purple eyes slowly dragging over her features. He smiles kindly at her before carefully pulling away to fold both hands behind his back. Ostara allows the retreat. They both know that her words are the truth. Rhaegar is most beloved by the people, common folk and noble alike, and he has done nothing to gain him ill favor from anyone. Or so Ostara's heard. She can't say that her friend is loved by everyone in the world, but perhaps the majority.
"You're a rather ambitious woman, aren't you, Lady Ostara?" He chuckles.
"I want to change lives, Rhaegar." Ostara smiles ruefully as she says, "One can't do that without being a little bit ambitious."
Ambitious? Ostara's never actually thought about it but she doesn't deny the fact that it's true. She is an ambitious woman; with dreams and ideas and plans to make Westeros a powerhouse similar to that of Valyria... Just without the slaves, the sexism, and the downright detrimental practice of incestuous marriages. Eventually Ostara's going to be known as a woman who helped revolutionize an entire continent.
This is only a step in the right direction.
"As your friend I shall support you, Ostara, if this is truly something you wish to do." Rhaegar finally says which manages to startle Ostara out of her thoughts.
"And what would you like in return?" She asks of the silver haired prince.
He shakes his head, silver-gold hair shining healthily in the sunlight falling in through the window beside them.
"Nothing," he promises. "I want nothing from you."
"I see." She doesn't. "Thank you."
"Of course... Now, I'd best be off." Rhaegar places a chaste kiss on the hand he gathers into his own, "Have a lovely day, Ostara."
"And you as well, Rhaegar."
She watches as the man strides off down the corridor and frowns once he's out of sight.
While she doubts Rhaegar has any malicious intent there are no favors done in King's Landing without the expectation of it being repaid in full. Ostara isn't afraid of Rhaegar, she knows him too well for that, knows herself too well for all that, but she is aware that you don't get something for nothing in this place and eventually Ostara will be asked to return Rhaegar's favor with one of her own.
It's just a matter of when.
Sighing heavily through her nose, Ostara pivots on her heel and begins making her way toward the gardens where she will find a quiet place to sit and think over the events of the day. As she walks Rubeus rubs up against her side, nearly shoving her off of her feet. She offers the shadowcat a bright smile and a gentle pat before gathering her skirts and continuing on her way.