Taking counsel with Rhaena and Tyrion separately, Daenerys came to the decision that she would allow the dwarf to keep his life. Even if he were not someone she could make use of, Daenerys doubted she would have killed the Lannister Imp regardless, for her sister's devotion and affection for Tyrion Lannister was as clear as the radiant azure sky which hung over their heads. Rhaena adored the man and he held just as much love for her. Daenerys would not have been able to harm even a single hair on his head, purely for Rhaena's sake. Though this reasoning she kept to herself. It was good to see Rhaena's spirits rallying once again, though always she carried with her a certain sadness within her which often manifested in the quiet moments of her reverie, gaze drifting to different realms altogether with her sorrows and grief until she was gently prompted back to the present. If the Imp made her smile, then that was satisfaction enough for Daenerys, though some others had taken a great deal more convincing. Namely Sansa, who had all but screamed when she and Myrcella had returned from their walk to find Tyrion lounging with Rhaena partaking of figs and pomegranate. It had been a shock to see him and Sansa had sobbed and panicked in a fluster, fearing the Lannisters had come to steal her back but Rhaena was able to calm her and assure her that she was still very safe and that Tyrion had fled in the same manner as they had from King's Landing. After hearing his story, Sansa was a little more accepting however it was clear that Tyrion made her uncomfortable and anxious, and so he made certain to spend as little time in her presence as possible so that she would feel more at ease.
Only Myrcella was genuinely delighted to see her uncle, embracing him fondly and kissing his cheek before presenting her beloved betrothed Trystane to him. Trystane treated Tyrion cordially but coolly, his manners only directed to Tyrion because of his love for Myrcella who remained utterly ignorant of any animosity between the two and chattered away, asking after her mother and her brother Tommen. Tyrion answered her as best as he was able, concealing a great number of truths but not all of them. He admitted to the girl that he was placed on trial for the murder of Myrcella's brother Joffrey, but sweet Myrcella was adamant that Tyrion could never have done such a thing. Her pure heartedness won a great deal of affection from those around her. It was her gift. Although not as happy in Meereen as she had been in Dorne, Myrcella bore it like the princess she had been raised to be and never once complained of anything. Her life was leisurely and peaceful, she could ask for no more, and she was always with her love, Trystane. It was more than enough. She awaited her fate and prayed for better days when the lands were once more at peace, where she then might return to Dorne to wed Trystane and become the mother of his children. Hoping that now that her uncle was with her, Myrcella's might soon become a reality.
Everyone allowed her to dream her pretty dreams, it was better than forcing her to face the truth of reality. That she might be trapped in Meereen for a long time yet to come. Rhaena was satisfied so long as Myrcella stayed put. However, seeing as she and Trystane had not attempted another escape from her since their foolish first attempt, Rhaena saw no reason as to imprison them within the Pyramid. She offered them the chance to go to the fighting pits where the grand games would be held, though warned Myrcella that it would be bloody and rather horrific. Both Sansa and Myrcella decided to decline. They had no wish to see more bloodshed. Syrio Forel chose to stay with them as their guardian which made Rhaena feel more at ease. Between Syrio, Lady and Trystane, as well as a detachment of Unsullied soldiers and mercenaries from Daario's Second Sons, they would be well protected should the Sons of the Harpy attempt anything upon the Pyramid during the games. Rhaena had been certain to inform Tyrion of everything that had occurred and the troubles they faced, voicing her concerns that a huge event such as this would be too great an opportunity for extremists such as the Sons of the Harpy to ignore. He agreed.
They made preparations as best they could to prepare for such an eventually, ensuring that the Pits were guarded at every entrance, that men of the Second Sons as well as Daenerys' khalasar were hidden amongst the crowds in commoners' clothing with their weapons concealed. Rhaena too went armed ready to defend herself and her sister, wearing her sword at her hip, a dagger at her back as well as hiding one in her boot. Despite the preparations, Rhaena remained ill at ease. It were as if her instincts were screaming at her to retreat to safety and take all her loved ones with her. Daenerys, Tyrion, Missandei, even that cocksure and arrogant Daario Naharis. How deeply she loved them, and how greatly she wanted them safe. But Hizdahr Zo Loreq had insisted that their presence was required for the games, for the sake of peace, and so to the pits they went though Rhaena disliked it strongly. She made her sentiments well known and pointedly glowered at Hizdahr as she warned him that he proved to be false, she would gladly feed him to the dragons. Her suspicion of the man only deepened when he arrived late and took the seat beside Daenerys, as was his right as her betrothed. Sitting stiffly beside her sister, directly to her left with Missandei then beside her, Rhaena leaned herself back in order to catch Tyrion's eye so that they might share a look of understanding. He had agreed to watch Hizdahr carefully. If anyone could point out a rat dressed in silks, it would be Tyrion. Communicating silently, Rhaena then turned her attention to the great pit before her as Daenerys questioned where Hizdahr had been though he insisted he had only been ensuring that all was in order. Rhaena twitched in her irritation. She disliked the man sorely.
The energy surrounding them was that of excitement and eager anticipation. The former masters and slaves of Meereen gathered together in one place seemingly in harmony for the sake of bloodshed and death. It was a sickening tradition, but seemingly a necessary evil. "Free citizens of Meereen," the announcer began to address in one of the many tongues of Valyrian so that the majority of onlookers would understand his words. "By the blessings of the Graces and Her Majesty the Queen, welcome to the Great Games!" The wild screams near enough shook the grand theatre as the crowds related their joy. "My queen, our first contest. Who will triumph: the strong or the quick?" Seeing two fighters who could not have been more distinctly opposing entered the pit in order to present themselves to Daenerys, who wished with all her heart she could end this folly here and now. She remained silent, watching impassively as both fighters spoke to her the traditional greeting.
"I fight and die for your glory, oh glorious queen." If this was how glory was won, then Daenerys wanted no part in it. She did not even dare move herself, but as the silence began to swell around them all, Hizdahr murmured to her that it was for her they all waited. She needed to clap her hands. Daenerys did not wish to. The moment her hands met together she knew the slaughter would begin. It was an inevitable outcome, but she hesitated for as long as she dared. Beside her she felt Rhaena shift herself slightly, leaning so that their shoulders touched as if to silently lend her strength. Having been alone for the majority of her life, Daenerys marvelled at how wonderful it felt to have someone whom you not only shared blood with, but was your equal in every measure. Taking the strength her twin sister offered, Daenerys finally clapped her hands with a single and decisive motion. The games had begun. May the gods forgive her.
At her unwilling command, the two fighters began their battle, a mountainous ox pitted again a slender, swifter man built like a reed. "That one, the smaller man, no question, that's where you should put your money." Daario was perhaps the only one of their party who took any real enjoyment from the spectacle, seeing it not as a slaughter but as entertainment.
"The smaller man it is then." Tyrion accepted the sellsword's advice as Daenerys sharply informed them that she would not be betting her coin upon either of them, though Hizdahr seemed not to notice her frosty countenance as he responded to Daario's comment with a calm aloofness, as if he were already settling into the title of 'king' which he would soon possess.
"Kings and queens never bet on the games. Perhaps you should go find someone who does." He flung a contemptuous look towards Daario who remained unperturbed, leaning forwards so that his head was positioned between Hizdahr's and Daenerys', almost purposefully leaning more towards his queen so that their hair and cheeks might brush upon occasion.
"People used to bet against me when I fought in the pits," he announced as he then looked at Hizdahr with that ever present vain twist of his mouth. "He would have bet against me. Common novice mistake."
"I have spent much of my life in Meereen, and in my experience, larger men do triumph over smaller man, far more often than not."
"Has your experience ever involved any actual fighting?" Quick and sharp with her wit, Daenerys turned towards Hizdahr was Rhaena smirked to herself and listened to them as they near enough bickered together, casting her eye occasionally towards the fight but taking very little interest in it. "You, yourself, have you ever tried to kill a man that was trying to kill you?" Sufficiently chastised, Hizdahr thought better than to answer as Daario began to explain why it was he would always win against a larger opponent, reasoning that no matter how thickly muscled a man was, there was never enough muscle protecting his neck to stop a blade from penetrating it. For this reason alone Daario claimed to never have lost a fight when he was in the pits. Rhaena could well believe it. Despite all his bravado and talk, Daario did not oversell his abilities and skills.
"Yes, whenever I saw a beast like that one, standing across from me making his beast faces, I knew I could rest easy." Almost as if the gods had decided to take Daario for a fool, the stronger fighter cleaved the head from the smaller in one vicious yet clean strike. The head rolled but the body remained standing even in death. Were Rhaena not of such a strong constitution, she might have screamed or fainted or even vomited. Perhaps all three. Glancing to her left she saw that Missandei looked horrified and had turned her face away in order to not look upon such a gruesome sight so Rhaena reached for her hand, silently placing hers on top and held Missandei tenderly to console her. Grateful for the reassurance, Missandei tentatively gripped onto Rhaena's hand and did not release it.
"You don't approve?" Hearing Hizdahr speak, Rhaena looked to see that he was now turned towards Tyrion who answered him simply yet firmly.
"There's always been more than enough death in the world for my taste. I can do without it in my leisure time."
"Fair enough, yet…it's an unpleasant question…but what great thing has ever been accomplished without killing or cruelty?"
"Buildings." Rhaena answered immediately, taking hold of the conversation for she felt she had stayed silent for too long, and she was adamant to remove the victorious smirk from Hizdahr's face since it irked her to see it. "Great structures which reach towards the sky. The castles and keeps of Westeros, The Wall of the North, the Titan of Braavos…mankind is at its best when it creates rather than destroys. We make love to procure children, perhaps the greatest treasures of all the lands…we use our hands to build and paint and create…our minds to think and learn and dream…these are things all accomplished without the requirement of blood, death or cruelty." Knowing that Hizdahr feared her, Rhaena turned her cold, unfeeling gaze upon him so that he would flinch from her. "Great deeds in themselves are only great if they are accomplished in an extraordinary manner. Has my sister not accomplished many a great dead without inflicting cruelty and unnecessary killing?"
"It is as you say, princess." Knowing better than to call her sister, Hizdahr bowed his head. Once he had made that mistake, seeking to foster fondness between them by calling her his future sister only to receive such a look that Hizdahr felt that he would have burst into flames had Rhaena felt the desire to command it be so. Never again would he repeat the mistake and he knew better now than to argue with her and instead turned his attention to Daenerys as they discussed the truth of greatness, attempting to convince her that these traditions were vital to the continuation of Meereen who would remain standing long after they were dead and buried, though Daeenrys reasoned that the city could be buried long before herself. Such comments made Hizdahr uneasy, though he hid such unease well. Rhaena listened to their conversation whilst her eyes returned their attention to the pit. All watched as the dead man was carried away, his head still separate from his body. As sand was tossed over the blood to cover it, the announcer once more cast his voice to the crowd, asking who would triumph next.
"A Meereenese champion?" A raring applause followed as the Meereenese champion was presented. Underneath the blazing sound of cheers, Hizdahr and Daenarys still debated together between truth and falseness.
"How many people will die to make this happen?" Questioning his queen, Daenerys looked at Hizdahr carefully in order to try and measure him for a man. He did not yet quite measure up.
"If it comes to that they would have died for a good reason." Looking towards the pit, Hizdahr reasoned that the men who fought believed they died for good reason, but this was an unacceptable reason for Daenerys. "Someone else's reason."
"So your reasons are true, and theirs are false. They don't know their own minds, but you do." It was enough to end Daenerys' argument, though where she faltered, Tyrion did not, and Rhaena loved him for it.
"Well said, you're an eloquent man. Doesn't mean you're wrong. In my experience, eloquent men are right every bit as often as imbeciles." It was then that the announcer presented the challenger to the Meereenese warrior, none other than a Westerosi knight. All looked sharply to see Ser Jorah Mormont standing before them, returned once more despite being sent away twice before. Rhaena took him for a fool. A blind, devoted fool who would rather meet death than be parted in life from her own sister. Glancing quickly to Rhaena, she saw Daenerys had stiffened from emotion. Daario hissed at Hizdahr in order to silence him before he could speak, for Daenerys was staring utterly at Ser Jorah without blinking. The silence remained for an insurmountable length of time until finally, Daenerys forced herself to clap her hands together. It made her stomach churn and her heart turn to stone in her chest. Uncertain of what else to do, Rhaena could only place her spare hand upon her sister's, now holding both Daenerys and Missandei. Both of them clutched hold of her so tightly, Rhaena soon could not feel her own fingers but she did not utter a complaint. Merely sat there quietly to be their strength as Ser Jorah fought the Meereenese champion. The fight went poorly almost from the very beginning, Ser Jorah taking injury whilst the swift and nimble fighter seemingly danced before him.
"Give me the word, and I shall save him for you." Rhaena whispered in a voice so low, only Daenerys would hear her. "Command it, and I shall spit upon this tradition and carry out your will, dear sister." Scarcely able to draw breath, Daenerys gave a curt nod of her head in understanding and tightened her grasp upon Rhaena's hand. There were other fighters in the pit however it was only Ser Jorah who was of interest to the company of the queen. They observed with baited breath as Ser Jorah was injured repeatedly, the fine blade too swift for him to defend against as the Meereenese warrior continually bested the seasoned knight, relieving him of his sword and felling him to the ground. Rhaena felt Daenarys practically breaking all the bones in her hand.
"You can end this." Tyrion turned quickly to the queen, unwilling to watch the man he had begrudgingly come to respect be butchered before him.
"She cannot."
"You can!" Arguing against Hizdahr's lazy intonation, Tyrion looked imploringly to Daenerys who remained utterly frozen. She wanted to command the games to halt, to send her sister Rhaena to retrieve Ser Jorah and bring him to safety…but she could not bring herself to do it. As a queen, she knew that committing to such an action would only lose her the little love of the people she had managed to scrape back from when she had lost it. Was Ser Jorah's life worth such an exchange? In her heart she knew it was not, and yet Daenerys still could not move. Sensing her distress, Rhaena surged to her feet even as the Meereenese warrior was impaled from behind by one of the other fighters, inadvertently saving Ser Jorah's life. The knight had a second chance, it would seem. Drawing herself back, Rhaena slowly released the hilt of her sword and returned to her seat, taking back Daenerys' and Missandei's hands once again. The spearman at least had integrity. He did not strike whilst Ser Jorah lay upon his back but waited for him to rise back to his feet and reclaim his sword. Rhaena could admire that much at least. This time Ser Jorah seemed to be on more even ground. Although knocked over once, he was able to throw back his opponent and rise once more, having watched his movements and style closely. It allowed him to know his opponent and how he might next act, and to also know where his weaknesses lay. It seemed over all before Rhaena could truly process what had happened. Ser Jorah had rolled forwards and thrust his blade through the spearman's gut, having moved through his defences and past the deadly point of his spear to claim the victory. A heavy exhale was audibly heard leaving Daenerys as Rhaena continued to observe the knight. Perhaps his devotion was far greater than any could have expected. How would her sister respond to this? Rhaena would never know, for before anyone could truly realise what was happening, Ser Jorah had seized the spear from his opponent and launched it directly towards the royal box.
Daario had flung himself to cover Daenerys as Rhaena had also lunged to shield her sister, however the spear sailed past all three of them and instead hit flesh and broke through bone. In a heartbeat Rhaena was on her feet with her sword drawn to look, seeing a man impaled upon the floor with the nightmarish golden mask. A Son of the Harpy. Rage and fury burst into life within her, fuelling her desire for vengeance and blood. They were now everywhere. All around them, rising from the crowds silently like ill omens. Hundreds of them. How had they missed this? How had they managed to enter? Rhaena was certain that they had prepared against this, had planned and predicted, they should not have been able to enter and yet here they were as if they had materialised from dust and shadow to plague them. Rhaena drew her sword with a flourish. "Protect your queen!" Daario swiftly barked the order to the Unsullied as he and Rhaena stood together with their weapons drawn, facing the first of the Sons who dared attempt to kill Daenerys. A rash and foolish attempt. Daario killed him effortlessly and Rhaena also drew blood in great satisfaction, slashing with her sword as one ran at her wielding only a knife. Did they think she feared them? She would show them what true fear should feel like. She vowed to slaughter each and every single Son of the Harpy she laid her eyes upon. Firstly, however…she must get her sister, Tyrion and of course Missandei to safety.
"Your Grace, Your Grace, come with me! I know a way out! I know a way…" Whether he had truly been an innocent bystander in the turmoil or one of their own, it would now never be known as Hizdahr was seized by several of the Sons and stabbed in the chest and gut repeatedly, adding his death to the slaughter. Rhaena did not even spare him a glance. To her, he had simply been a presence and even his death did not affect her. She had greater concerns at present. Turning towards the crowds, Rhaena raised her voice as loudly as she could make it, cutting down any Son which came at her as she called to the masses even as they screamed and ran.
"Fight! Fight! You are many and they are few! Capture them! Seize them! Take their weapons and cut their throats or they shall cut yours! If you desire to live then fight! Do not flee! Fight them! Fight for your freedom you gave yourselves! Join me! Fight!" Gradually her voice began to be heard as Rhaena slashed her sword, keeping the Sons of the Harpy from attempting to attack Daenerys by leaping upon the royal box from the carved stone stands. Hearing her reason, the panicked and the fearful began to take heart and turn upon those which slaughtered them, their screams of terror becoming screams of battle. They grouped together and targeted the Sons one by one, overwhelming them with numbers and forcing their weapons from their hands before tearing off their masks. Upon finding nothing beneath but a man of flesh and blood, the fear began to seep away. A man could be killed, and soon enough the effect began to spread as the masses assisted in fighting back though it was still only a small number of them. The message was slow to carry, but it was enough. It bought time to remove Daenerys from the small encloser of the canopy, Ser Jorah having rushed to her side in order to protect her from harm. Rhaena had turned just as Tyrion killed a Son of the Harpy before they could have slaughtered Missandei who cowered utterly defenceless whilst Daenerys was lowered into the pit. She ran to them, her sword scarlet and dripping with blood, vaulting down into the pit before holding up her arms with a shout to a pair of Unsullied.
They rushed to her side and helped her lower Missandei and Tyrion down, defending them from attack before together they made their way to where Daenerys emerged with Ser Jorah and Daario, their way out having been blocked from the outside. All the preparations Rhaena and Tyrion had prepared were wasted, it would seem. They were to be trapped and seemingly slaughtered. Or at least, this was the intention of the Sons of the Harpy, though Rhaena would never allow it to be so. Grasping hold of a fallen Unsullied shield, Rhaena carried it in her left arm and slammed it against one of the Sons as they rushed the defensive line, seemingly wanting nothing else than to kill the woman who had stolen their livelihood. Daenerys was their focus. It was her life they wanted to claim above all others. Rhaena would not allow it to happen. Fire swelled within her, spreading across her body within the containment of her skin until she felt as if she had become a living flame, burning and raging like wildfire. Wanting nothing more than to see these Sons burn for what their part in Ser Barristan's death, Rhaena imagined snaking flames shooting across the ground in order to spiral across the sanded pit and latching onto these so called harpy sons. Her wish became reality, and soon the golden and violet flames began to streak from her as more flames flickered across her body, appearing in bursts and pulses like a living cloak and raiment.
At first Tyrion had not noticed it at all, but when they had no other choice but to stand in the centre of the pit in order to create a defensive line around Daenerys as all other routes had been blocked to keep them from escaping, Tyrion finally saw it. His breath caught in his throat. His Rhaena was wreathed in flames as they danced upon her hair and flesh, even her clothing without scorching even a single thread. With deep purple and violet centres, they then melted into a bright golden hue as fire spread outward from her and began to consume all she perceived as an enemy. The sword and shield hung limp at her side. Fire was the only weapon she needed, though she would have felt better for having Rhaegal and Viserion beside her. They were too far away to hear her call. Even with magic, they would not know to come to her. Rhaena cursed herself for her lack of foresight. If they escaped from this, she would ensure to find a means to always be able to call Rhaegal and Viserion to her no matter how far apart they were. For now, however, she made do with her own flames though the effort of maintaining them took great concentration and energy. Soon she began to grow drained, as if the more she sent the flames outward the less she possessed within her to keep her warm.
As much as she wanted to bathe each and every single Son of the Harpy in a torrent of flames, she did not have the strength. Deciding that it would be better not to exhaust herself, Rhaena allowed the flames to take on their own command, burning upon screaming men and eating away at them until they were nothing but charred corpses upon the ground. Tyrion remained staring at her. For a brief and rather horrifying moment, he wondered if this was how the Mad King had looked when he had burned his enemies alive. No. No this was different, and this was Rhaena. The only pleasure she took from this was the pleasure of vengeance for her beloved Ser Barristan. She would not burn an innocent. They were the enemy and it truly was life and death. Tyrion told himself this several times over, though now a thought had taken root in his heart. Were perhaps all Targaryens destined for madness…even the best of them? He prayed it was not so, for he would not be able to bear it if Rhaena lost her mind to insanity, to see her old self eaten away by something dark and twisted which would wear her face and use her voice but it would not be her. Only a mere shell of what she had once been. No. Rhaena. She was Rhaena, and she was good. She was the best of them. She would not become mad. Tyrion would not allow it. Stepping closer to her, he placed his hand upon her arm as he moved before her in a protective manner which almost made Rhaena laugh for amusement that Tyrion should seek to protect her from harm armed only with a dagger. How she loved the little man. Raising her shield and her sword, Rhaena prepared to face the masses of their enemies even as they surrounded them. No matter the end, she would not leave this place without wetting her steel with their blood until the metal had dyed entirely red.
Only some dared move forwards, testing the defences which surrounded Daenerys only to be picked off with relative ease. The Sons of the Harpy knew that they would not succeed fighting one on one. Their strength came in their numbers, so in numbers they would move. Just as Rhaena was about to raise her shield to block a Son's blow at her head, a cry came from the skies both ethereal and blood-chilling. Her head snapped around as the enemy before her froze. She knew what that cry meant. It was a dragon cry. It came again, this time louder and closer, until all at once a burst of fire blossomed into life and a huge black shape erupted from within as if born from the flames itself. Drogon. Rhaena could finally see Drogon. He was as magnificent as Daenerys had described. Unable to do anything but stare in wonder, Rhaena watched as Drogon circled the pit before landing whilst the Sons of the Harpy all scattered in terror. The chittering roar Drogon gave sent a pleasant chill up Rhaena's spine, staring at him as Drogon suddenly lunged forwards and seized hold of one of the Sons as they had charged at Daenerys to rip the man in two. Drogon commanded a majestic stream of flames upon those who would harm his mother, breathing dragon fire upon them to burn them to ashes. Rhaena continued to stand in silent wonderment.
It was only when the spears came down upon Drogon did Rhaena awaken from her stoic state, seeing one lodge itself into Drogon's back. Sons of the Harpy were using the spears of fallen Unsullied to attack Drogon, who was still so young and his scales not as hard as they might be when fully grown. He was still vulnerable. Seeing him harmed and hearing the pain in his voice, Rhaena found herself rushing forwards with an outraged cry. She launched herself upon a group of Sons of the Harpy and her blade soon cut them down before her, hissing through her teeth as she stormed through their numbers to those who dared pick up spears, slashing their arms before they could throw them before killing them in one manner or other. Daenerys cried out Drogon's name, the sound carrying to where Rhaena fought, causing her to raise her head to see her sister pull one of the spears from Drogon's neck. The dragon roared impressively, bellowing at Daenerys for his hurts but then calmed himself, watching her as she stretched her hand towards him. More Sons of the Harpy were gathering spears, and although Rhaena set herself upon them, there were far too many for just herself alone. Another spear struck Drogon, one Son daring to thrust with the spear still in hand to strike at Drogon who recoiled before turning towards the pain in order to seek the source.
"Daenerys!" Shouting even as she fought against men with swords, knives and spears, Rhaena slammed her shield against one then slashed with her sword to deliver a red smile to the enemy before her. "Drogon's scales are still vulnerable! He will die if he stays here!" Even as she heard her sister's words Daenerys knew them to be true. She moved closer to Drogon and began to climb onto his back, settling herself there even as she trembled with the anticipation of what she intended. If Rhaena could fly with Rhaegal and Viserion, then Drogon who was the biggest of the three should be able to fly with her effortlessly. Daenerys lowered herself down against Drogon's neck, shifting herself to find the most comfortable position even against his spines before taking a tight grip of him. This was it. The moment she had awaited ever since the moment her dragons had hatched. She could hold back no longer. "Valahd…" Hearing her command, Drogon turned himself in order to take his mother away from danger, though not before he looked towards the other silver haired woman whose scent filled his nostrils. Drogon chittered softly in his momentary pause, recognising one of his own blood, but his mother and his rider had bid him fly, and so he would do so. He would summon his brothers. They would come for their kin and protect her. Drogon did not doubt that, otherwise he would not have left her there. Rhaena watched in the moments between battle in order to see as Drogon charged forwards and opened his great leathery wings to take to the air with Daenerys upon his back, raising his voice in a monumental cry which reverberated directly through Rhaena who felt it in the fibre of her being. Despite everything, she smiled.