#draqonmothcr

Soft eyes remain downcast, looking at the puddle of red that sat within her cup. A year ago, the only time she was allowed to look at wine this fine was if she was pouring it for her master... Now she sat with a Queen, riding through the Kingsroad, sipping it. How her life had changed, she definitely owed it to the Lord of Light, for if his visions had never found her - if she had never seen Daenerys standing in Dragonstone, if she hadn't seen the Queen conversing with her family, she would have never had the nerve to run from her master. Never. So did her illusion of freedom come from him? Or was she now yet again a slave, just serving a master who could not punish her physically? Or maybe he had - he had shown her that vision of her son... But here she sat, not pregnant, nor nursing no babe.

"I don't know," the admission is quiet but sincere. She felt as if she had no reason to hide from the Queen, to brush her true self away into the dark. If anyone understood what she had gone through, Daenerys Targaryen was that person. Her Queen had been a slave too, though sometimes it was hard to remember such days. Her Queen had suffered many of the same traumas she had - including losing her son. How ironic, she thought, that the two of them with such similar stories would come together: both caused by terrible brothers.

Rickon had grown, but then so had all the Starks after Theon had left them. All changed, far from the children he remembered them to be. He lifted his head at the words, unsure which story that could be referred to, but if it was his own, he knew well enough the fate waiting for him especially with them venturing straight for Winterfell. “I suppose that could be true in most cases.” He muttered in response, feeling strangely unsettled in the boy’s presence. He shouldn’t be so near any of his former foster siblings, not with how hostile glances in his direction had become.