for rhaenys martell-targaryen. @sunsdragon
[set in rhaenys' verse 4] "i suppose i tried to warn my father, in a fashion. i told him the fires had woken again... i showed him how my skills had suddenly grown stronger," as kelerel speaks, she conjures a small marble-sized orb of flame that she spins through her fingers. "the pureborns were always foolish, too polite and preening, my father included. i had hoped they would see the sense in aiding the mother of dragons, the mother of fire made flesh. there is nothing more powerful in this world," she coaxes the flaming orb to blossom into a rose before burning away to nothing once more, "than the power of fire. i heard the khaleesi's vow of fire and blood when she quarreled with that fat idiot who called himself spice king, and i stood back and watch it come true."
the qartheen firemage didn't particularly care of the goal of westeros, she did care for the plight of the slaves; qarth generally had a sense of humanity towards their slaves ... but kel had see the cruelty beyond, and had seen the cruelty within the queen of cities herself. regardless, kelerel believed one didn't need a slave, and those who argued they were entitled to one ... they bothered her. but she was intensely pulled to the fires. the deep fires of the world, the ones that had been snuffed out almost entirely by the doom. like a moth to a flame, kelerel was drawn in. "i hope to die enveloped in fire... or be farewelled upon a pyre like the horselords. a pure death. my father would always say it was the way of heathens ... until i set his beard alight and he retracted the offense." kelerel had wept for him, of course, and for any innocents that had been the victim of the stupidity and egos ... it was the qartheen way to freely shed tears in pain, pleasure and happiness ... but kel could also not excuse the way the dead had brought it upon themselves.
