New Shoes for a New Road
Seventeenth Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC
The first day of the proceedings of the Curia's opening dawns bright and busy over the white walls of the palace, but for your first task today at least you have another sort of meeting to see to. The affairs of state do not obviate those of family, though you might count yourself more fortunate than the kings who came before you that the two do not conflict, and the worst you shall have to face today is awkwardness and misunderstanding. Still, you do not at once summon the knight, Bonifer Hasty, with whom you must speak, but instead call your sister to take her council, for she is more likely to know the mind of your mother in this matter and keep you from saying more than you should.
"Oh, she is definitely pining for him and him for her, unless I miss my guess, though I know the man less," Dany says. "Why he does not say something, I cannot guess, but as for mother..." she sighs and there is a mingled note of sadness and exasperation to it. "It is this whole 'ladies do not act first' thing that so many have been saddled with. I swear the Dornish are the sanest people west of the Narrow Sea when it comes to matters of the heart."
"I shall be sure to tell Oberyn that you think so," you reply, adding a touch of levity to the discussion before it can grow too dark.
"It is not his
heart that is the trouble there," your sister scoffs, but her eyes are laughing. "Look, I get where it comes from, I'm not blind to the social pressures. If something happens, it is the woman that gets stuck bearing the child, but we have better wards against that than Moon Tea, there is no earthly reason to keep going with these sorts of
morals." She says the last word with an edge of weary disgruntlement. "It's like you wear wooden clogs because those are the only shoes around, but even when that changes you keep them because you are used to the splinters."
You almost choke on your tea. "One hopes you did not say that too loudly around mother."
"Of course not, I'm not stupid," your sister replies. "I may have glared at the two of them a time or two wishing they would get on with it. Mother got what I was going for, I'm sure of it. She gave me this 'it's more complicated than you know, Daenerys' look. It is really,
really is not. When you have the power, you make the rules. It's only sensible to make those rules so you are not feeling miserable over matters of the heart, when you have found someone to share that joy with."
"And Ser Hasty?" you prompt, not sure you want to hear the answer.
"He just looked sort of worried," she shrugs. "I figured mother would explain what the problem was and that would finally break the dam and get them moving."
"I am assuming that did not go according to plan then?" you prompt. Perhaps you should have been paying more attention, but it had seemed to you that your eye on the matter would do more harm than good.
"No, it did not, and I am all out of ideas save one," she replies. Then with eyes opened wide and ingenious, like a child in some mummer's farce, she asks softly. "Should I call you 'father' now, Ser Hasty?"
For a moment you are caught between sheer horror at the awkwardness that might engender and incredulous laughter. In the end, the laughter wins out. "Let's save that for... never. Yes, never sounds good. I'll talk to him."
"Well, alright then. See that you do, else I shall be saying that," she replies in mock imperiousness.
***
Ser Bonifer Hasty looks in some ways unchanged from that day more than half a year ago when he had pledged his sword to your service, save that in place of arms and armor he now wears court garb in the purple and white of his House, though if anything, he looks more worried now than when he had first come before the throne to kneel. "There is no elegant way to say this without awkwardness, Ser, so I shall instead strive for clarity," you begin. "It is no business of mine and never has been who my mother chooses to show favor to. I trust her judgement and her wisdom in such matters. I do not give you leave to court her, but only because it is not my place to give or to retract such leave."
The knight all but sways in his place, and you think a feather might be enough to knock him over.
"Would that this be all that was needed, I would be more happy than words could tell, Your Grace," he finally finds his voice, forgetting new courtesies, not that you blame him for it. You
do, however, blame him for his next words. "Yet what might be said of the fair queen when it should come to light that the name was placed beside one so low in standing as myself? The rumors were dark enough when there was naught to them but longing, even the captain of the Kingsguard bent his ear to them."
"Rumors?" You shake your head, staring to understand Dany's exasperation. "Ser, I have it on good authority that a year ago there were rumors going about in Westeros that had me using babes for soup stock. I do not imagine such things have been spared my mother's ears, much as I would have wished it otherwise. Now I ask you what to
that is the empty tittering of a scandal starved court?"
"I..." he trails off then swallows and forces himself to carry on. "Your Grace, how can I ask her to put her hand in mine when I have nothing to offer but my lance and spear? Life is not some ballad heard in boyhood. When I am old and grey... well older and greyer than I am now, she shall yet be young, kept so by the magic in her songs. Should I then ask her to drag me through the ages like some lodestone of mortality?"
It is then that you realize Bonifer Hasty thinks more of songs and ballads than he himself realizes, his mind filled with forever such that he forgets the day at hand. Your tone grows softer in understanding. "Ser, the world is dark and filled with evil things and tidings may yet be black in the end. To
none of us is eternity or even long life guaranteed. Better, I would think, to catch the moment when you can than to look only to the horizon."
Although your words are dark and foreboding, it seems to you as though a great weight was lifted from the knight's shoulders and in his eyes a new light kindled as he bids you farewell. That had been less painful than you might have feared.
What next?
[] Curia opening
-[] Write in any last minute details
[] Write in
OOC: I know the vote is a bit weak, but this really needed a break point.
