RHAENYS’ FINGERS, BLISTERED AND CALLOUSED AND COLD, curl into jet black leather, clutching to the fur around her shoulders. the chill is biting, in such drastic change from the warmth of dorne; humid air tasting of some variety of spice. here the air is cold, cutting down her throat with every breath, and her tongue threatening to freeze over with every effort to speak or breathe. her skin is chapped. gods be damned the wall and its wretched cold, though rhaenys finds some solace by the flickering flames and the stew boiling over it. satin sits beside her, appearing to have a higher tolerance than she. perhaps it is an immunity she shall come to know, though she likes to think she will not be at the wall long enough to find out. she will find jon snow and have a word with him, whenever he intends on returning. “ and they will still mock you behind your back,” rhaenys murmurs, fingers burrowing deeper. her words fall stuttered and cold.“ you’ve heard their words, just as i have. they seem to enjoy underestimating you, with only their assumptions as a shield … ” rhaenys has heard the words spewed by others, hissed in low cackling whispers. it has triggered angered eyes and tightened knuckles here or there. despite the shortness of time she has spent here, rhaenys has grown fond of satin, particularly given the nature of his secrecy. he sees her as she is, whilst others sit idly and piss off the edge of the word. loyalty is repaid in loyalty. “ i want to teach you the dornish way of fighting. it’ll help you … and… be more fitting to your … strengths … ”
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