AN: Apologies, truly. Late update. Life sucks, I suck. Really sorry. Unedited, sorry for any mistakes.
"Khal vehzven" Great King.
It was supposed to be a greeting in reverence, but by the harsh way it was spat from her mouth, it sounded more like scoffing mockery, punctuated by the stony glare she was casting towards the Iron Throne. Amidst the slowly gathering murmers, the notable people were still curiously shocked to silence.
The King looks flabbergasted, disbelieving the scene.
The Master of Whisperers is carefully observing, as if trying to look for something.
The Grand Maester is half up in his chair, a confused but almost delighted expression on is face.
And the newly officiated Hand of the King...well, she was glaring right back with the same intensity, sure that they were still all silent because they were all thinking the same supposedly impossible thing: a Dothraki just set foot in the very heart of Westeros.
She appeared to ba casually standing there, but in Delphine's eyes, she is a tightly coiled spring, an untamed free spirited mare that can trample and crush. And then she moves, her hand reaching towards her hip. Beth, Paul, and Art were the first to kick into action, stepping forward with swords drawn. It seemed to be the trigger, causing a chain reaction.
The dothrak has dropped what she was holding a second ago, letting it flutter to the floor and drawing both her arakh and dagger the moment she heard the sound of steel being drawn.
The Kingsguard were slowly circling her, armed to the teeth while the stranger mirrors their every cautious move, ready to pounce at the first attack.
Delphine utters an urgent "wait", prompting both Felix and Cosima to look at her in question, even though they agree to her hasty word.
The crowd's disquiet has intensified, some staring in horror and fear, some itching to see a fight.
Rachel's eye is drawn towards the floor, an image catching her eye, and before everything escalates and blood is drawn, she calls for them to stop. Her voice is drowned in the mayhem, and she puts every ounce of command and power in her voice the second time around.
"I said ENOUGH!"
The sound echoes through the halls, overpowering the previous cacophany. Everyone stills, every single one of them freezes and looks at her, even the fighters, rooted in their fighting stances. It gives Rachel the first power high as Hand of the King, and she revels in it, in the way people automatically respond to her, but then her eyes land on the enigma wrapped in leather, braids, and kohl. Half crouched, with both weapons at the ready, every muscle under the cooper tinged skin corded in anticipation, she looks absolutely feral and dangerous. Even though she appears calm, there is a jut in her jaw, the only physical giveaway of the unbridled energy inside of her. That, and her eyes, which were currently trained on Rachel who was gazing right back, who couldn't stop the involuntary shiver that creeps up her spine at the roaring fire she can see behind those dark dark eyes.
"Bring me the parchment." Rachel congratulates her voicebox for not wavering, her tone still crisp and commanding. The Kingsguard appear confused for a moment, until they saw it, there, splayed out adjacent to leather boots, a silent admonishment as they realize their mistake, that the Dothraki was reaching for this, and not a weapon. They were all hesitant to move, the danger emanating from her enough to hold them off, until the rustle of armor is heard as one of them takes a step towards the paper. There is a low growl in response, the eyes that previously held Rachel's gaze now focused on the knight who took a step, frozen in the advance when she growled and tilted her head down.
Beth puts a hand up, then slowly lowers her sword to the ground, and slowly getting back up again, but she notices that there is no change from the other warrior.
I don't blame her, not after the way we almost jumped at her for reaching a damn roll of paper, even if we were just doing our jobs. She puts both hands up in front of her, showing that she is unarmed, and with the same slow movements, reaches to take her helmet off. This finally ellicits a response in the form of a slow shift of the dothrak's head.
Beth's eyes dart down towards the parchment, then goes back up to meet the steely gaze, a silent request. It takes a moment, but leather boots finally take a careful step back, and another one, her stance and form still ready to spring into action any time. Beth steps forward, hands still held up, picks the paper up, then slowly retreats, their eyes boring into each other the whole time until she had to turn around to deliver the paper to the Hand, but not before she took a glimpse at it, her face almost giving away her own surprise upon seeing the distinctive red seal, before she schools her features and hands it over.
"My Lo...Lady Hand."
Rachel's brow rises imperceptively, and stares a little too long at the broken wax seal. She unfurls it, her eyes going through the words over and over, not quite wanting to believe their existence.
From the study of The Hand of the King
No harm shall come to the person carrying this missive , shall be allowed entrance into the city gates as an honored guest and will be escorted to the Tower of the Hand upon arrival.
And at the very bottom is a very distinct, (and to Rachel, very infuriating) symbol. The very same one pinned to her chest.
Welll, that explains how she managed to reach the throne room. She finally rerolls it at the sound of Donnie clearing his throat.
"What is the meaning of this? What does she want?"
Rachel turns her expressionless mask at him, and he almost cringes, trying to keep a straight face as he reaches for the paper being handed to him.
Once he finished reading it, he slowly glances up, meeting Rachel's very calm and composed face.
"If this is true, what shall we do? What bussiness did Lord Ethan have with a Dothraki of all people?"
That's what I'd like to find out. Her eyes catch the way Delphine was surveying the scene, and while everybody else looked alarmed, she looked almost worried, like she knew someone in the fray of knights and the solitary oddity in the center, all in their fighting stance, except for Beth, opting to lower her sword in a neutral fasion.
"Lower your swords." This from Donnie.
Lord Commander Gavin immediately protests "Your Grace, she is armed. Your safety is our priority."
"She won't hurt me." Rachel almost scoffs out loud. Don't be too sure of that.
"Your swords, put them away." One by one, they reluctantly straighten from their stance and sheath their swords, while the newcomer still looks battle ready, never once considering to drop her guard.
"You can put it away, I've ordered them to stand down." The king was talking to her as though trying to pacify a wild animal. "Now tell us why it is that you had to come all the way here", he asks, expecting her to respond.
But she doesn't, she just continues to stare.
"Did you know Ethan Lannister?" he tries again, still not getting a reaction.
"Your Grace, I do believe our guest cannot understand a word you are saying." Rachel interferes, dark eyes shifting from the king to her. "She is a barbarian after all."
"Then how are we supposed to understand each other if she can't understand a word I'm saying?" he asks, then seems to come to a solution, and steps towards her.
There is an instant murmur from the crowd, and a litany of "your grace!" from a handful of the kingsguard. He does not stop advancing, causing the dothraki to tense, coiling like a spring, ready to attack, which the kingsguard recognize and they immediately draw their swords.
"Ohos! Os!" Be Still. Don't move. The leather clad stranger turns a full 180 degrees at the sound, her arakh now trained on the person who just spoke.
Everybody, Delphine especially, freezes at the unexpected interruption.
No. Nonono. What are you doing?
There, in the front row of the crowd, someone in a very familiar light orange dress and microbraids has stepped forward, jerking her hands up when she sees the weapons now being aimed at her.
"Yer dothraki?...uhm..lajak?" You are dothraki?..uhm..a fighter?
Cosima waves one of her hands around as she recalls what she knows of the dothraki vocabulary, not all that sure if she said it right, but is deemed to be so when there is a hoarse and heavily accented reply.
"Sek." Yes.
All eyes are now drawn towards the princess of Dorne, and beside her, she can hear Alison hissing "You speak Dothraki?" which seems to be everybody's singular thought at the moment.
Please don't make any sudden movements. Those knights are protecting the king, and they will attack you if they so much think you are a threat, and right now, you look very very threatening.
The dothraki's eyes flit towards the Whitecloaks, warily surrounding her while pushing the king back to safety.
"Well well, it seems your cleverness has its purpose other than give me a headache." Rachel comments drolly. "Ask this animal the King wants to know what she came here for."
Cosima throws her a look, before turning her attention back to situation at hand, translating the question, but hesitates in translating the reply she got.
"Well?" Rachel snaps impatiently, "What did she say?"
"She says she isn't here for the king, and was specifically instructed not to talk to anyone but the Hand of the King."
"I AM the Hand of the King."her voice at a very civil volume but her tone brimming with danger. She boldly steps down to the ground level, brushing off the scurrying and efforts of the Kingsguard to protect her, and approches the newcomer who has now turned to look at her. She stops at a distance, a poised intersection of danger and elegance, directly addressing the warrior in front of her. "So you will answer my questions and we will come to terms." She does her best not to look away from those black rimmed eyes quietly sizing her up, resting on her chest.
Why the hell is she looking at my breast?
Those eyes glance up to meet Rachel's indignant ones, and she smirks before giving a small nod, then lowers her dagger and curved blade.
Oh. realization almost makes Rachel blush. Stupid. She wasn't looking at my chest, she was looking at the Hand's pin. She projects her self anger outward, because that's one of the things she does best.
"Princess." she barks out at Cosima. "since you understand savage-talk, might you accompany the guards in taking this barbarian to one of the holding cells until a further decision is fully discussed."
Donnie immediately appears at her side, whispering his protest "But Lady Rachel, your father's note says-"
"Your Grace, I know what the note says, but there is no proof that it is from my father. As you can see, she is dangerous, her very presence in King's Landing is an anomaly. Until further discussion, she has to be contained."
He mulls it over, then nods. "If you think it's for the best...I leave this matter to you then, since technically, she came to see you."
I haven't thought of it like that.
"While this matter is being discussed, if she ever draws her weapons again, it will be the last she'll ever draw them. Kindly make sure that she understands that." she smiles at Cosima who looked perplexed, paraphrasing it to a simple "no weapons".
Rachel gets a brow raise from the braided warrior, which almost seems like a defiant challenge, as if she knew that those two words weren't all she said, her anger visibly growing the more she listens to Cosima explain the situation, her grip tightening painfully on her weapons. There is a moment of bated breath, everybody waiting for her next move. She contemplates attacking, but her survival instinct forces her to acknowledge the fact that despite being a superb fighter, she is surrounded and outnumbered. Her weapons go back to their places by her hips, and there is a very palpable sense of relief from the air.
"Good." the Hand smiles, watching three of the Kingsguard and Cosima lead her away, all eyes trained on their retreating figures.
When the doors shut close and snatch them from view, Rachel grits her teeth.
Brilliant. Now I have a barbarian atop the princess mystery I have to figure out. Damn it father, even in death, you still manage to give me problems.
Beth, being in the rear guard, listens in on the conversation, trying to understand as much as she can as Cosima navigates her way through the dothraki tongue. As a knight, she is wary of this stranger, and she is not just a knight, she is in the Kingsguard, it is her sowrn duty to neutralize anything that might harm the King, which is exactly what this dothraki is. But more than that, she is intrigued.
She is a trained fighter, there is no doubt about that...a screamer...a horselord. She tries not to smile as Cosima's hands flail around, trying to capture and grasp some of the words she's having difficulty expressing with, while the person she's talking to looks bored and wants to bail as soon as possible.
Well, at least there's three of us protecting her while her curiousity is overpowering her sense of danger...although I don't think our mystery visitor intends to hurt her...she looks as though she just wants things to be over so she can get away.
She hears the princess mention her name, pointing to her chest, and she figures that Cosima is introducing herself, then asks what Beth was sure is "What is your name?". There was no reply long enough for Beth to think maybe she guessed wrong, until the dothraki glances briefly at her, then speaks in her rough accent.
"Sarah."it was spoken cautiously but with warning. Cosima, however, decides to let it fly over her head and smiles one of her goofy smiles, switching to the common tongue.
"Sarah. Welcome to King's Landing."
Her shit eating grin, however, is dashed once they reach the holding cell. Cosima doesn't know how to downplay what she is about to say, trying not to cower under a death glare when she does say it. Shit. Okay. I can do this.
"Sara, I'm sorry, but you have to surrender your weapons."
Under the murderous glower, she starts rambling in explanation, not even noticing that she's speaking the common tongue.
"I know you don't want to, but Rachel, the Hand? She will make things all the more difficult if you resist, and trust me, she is one scary lady. And if you are to negotiate things with her..."
Ser Arthur quietly glances at Beth, unsure of how to proceed. Beth catches his stare, and interrupts before they all get winded from the word vomit.
"Princess. Tell her it's only temporary. I will return her weapons first thing myself if they come to a decision."
Sarah listens with the same expression, turning her glare towards Beth who was patiently waiting for her to hand over her blades. Finally, with great reluctance, she gives them up, looking up at Beth with a face that says 'you better return them'. The knight nods, carefully tucking the weapons under her arm, then turns to Cosima.
"How do you say thank you in dothraki?"
There is a moment of pondering. "I don't think there is a word for thank you."
I know, I know, I wasn't satisfied with this either, it's rather short. I'll try to make it up on the next one. But it's hard to get things together when you can't even get your life together. Hurrah. I'm trying my best though. And your thoughts are always appreciated.