Of Court and Counsel
Twenty-Sixth Day of the Fourth Month 294 AC
One rarely had a chance to stop and reflect in the midst of preparations for something as complex as the coronation of a new king, much less a new emperor. People being what they were, however, sometimes you could catch a few quiet moments looking out over the glittering hosts from the perch of a balcony. Dignitaries in simple doublets of the sort favored in Braavos mingled with magisters in jewel-bright silks, like jays in a flock of rare tropical birds. Dignified visitors from far off Yi Ti rubbed shoulders with Summer Islanders, always ready to smooth over any trouble with a smile and a jest. Even a djinn lady in her fanciful palanquin wrought of sapphires and silver floated over the heads of a Myrish noblewomen flanked by sentinels of living glass.
For a moment, Rhaella Targaryen felt like she was back on the long ride south from Bloodraven's cave, like she had fallen into a storybook or lost herself in a ballad, but then no singer of her girlhood would have conceived a scene as strange as this one. For one, there was a distinct lack of bold knights in shining armor and ladies fair of the Seven Kingdoms. Most of the lords were not set to arrive until the morrow so what stood before her now was more a picture of the Empire that was rather than that which would be.
"Our countrymen will seem dreadfully provincial when they arrive, will they not?" a familiar voice spoke from behind her. Bloodraven was not wholly in his cave anymore.
You would think having grown a foot taller than most men and possessing bones of adamantine would make him at least a little less quiet, the former queen grumbled inwardly.
"Many fear what they do not understand, and among the lords of Westeros most will struggle to understand the growing symphony of magic."
The words had been chosen with a purpose, of that Rhaella had no doubt. A reminder that their kinship went deeper than blood these days. Much as she still felt like an observer some days, remote from the ever-changing web of the city, she was herself a being of magic, a dead woman walking, a sorceress who wove songs of enchantment. A small laugh escaped her.
At the eyebrow raised in askance, she explained, "I sound like a bit villain from a mediocre ballad. You know, the sort that serves as a foil for the virtuous maiden awaiting the hero at home?"
"We are all villains in someone's story," he agreed, seemingly offhand.
An awkward silence fell over the balcony for a long moment before Rhaella broke it. "I apologize for thinking worse of you than you deserve, my lord. This day would not have been possible without you."
The ancient sorcerer shrugged his newly-wrought shoulders easily. "What we each
deserve is a matter of perspective. When most use the term they mean in the eyes of the gods, but as one who has had gods in his head for far longer than is comfortable, I can safely say they are as prone to expediency as the rest of us. I've found the judge that matters most speaks with a quieter voice within."
Once Rhaella would have laughed at the thought of Brynden Rivers having a conscience of all things, but she had come to know the man too well, if only as one removed by her daughter's intercession. He did have principles and was guided by them, for all the path was dark and filled with thorns. She wondered then as she had never before, how much of it was born of the burning desire to prove himself more than
just a bastard? It was the same flame of anger and resentment she had seen flicker in the eyes of Rhaegar's son at times. A boy of eight might be cured of that hurt with time and patience, but the man before her was well past that. He was what his age and the kings and princes, siblings long dead, had made him.
She turned away lest her gaze betray pity he would likely find more insulting than any coldness. "Then let us forget the weighing of deeds of old. The past is not ours to change, but the future,
that we can work to better. He is going to need all the help he can get..."
There was no need to explain who he was. Viserys Targaryen might seem more graven image than man in the light of the enchanted mirrors, but Rhaella and Brynden, both children of a court, knew that no king was ever above the need for skillful and leal aid.
"Well then, best get to it," the old sorcerer said with a small sigh. "There is a skyship from Qarth set to arrive in Stepstones airspace in a few hours. How do you judge we should handle the
Undying?" The word was spoken with no small measure of scorn.
"In light of the fact that the most contact we have had with them is failed espionage on their part, you mean?" Rhaella asked.
"We know about the efforts that failed," Bloodraven cautioned, ever-cheerful soul that he was.
The raven fit him in more than one way.
How do you greet the delegation from Qarth?
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OOC: This update was supposed to focus more on the Qarthi, but then the Rhaella-Brynden conversation got away with me a bit. 
