Cherazza 11

280AC

She sat, staring long fully out into the streets, filled with noise and streamers and colorful fabric and beautiful dances.

For the last two years, it had been a reminder of the sadness her Viserys had suffered.

This year it was far worse.

She had tried to hold a brave face when he had left to face the Red Witch alone. When she had read the note he left behind.

She had hoped that he would return, perhaps like a storybook, having gone on some great and wonderful quest. That he would ride back into the city in triumph on a great white steed.

Such things were the fantasies of little girls, however, and each day of his absence had set her heart another foot into its grave.

It had been two days ago when she had broken, at last, cast herself from her balcony on the first day of the festival. For if her Viserys was dead, then she ought to join him, and if he yet lived than perhaps her spirit might protect him from the Red Witch.

Fate was at work however, and its cruel tricks spared her, a canvas market stand caught her fall, and she was not gravely injured.

It was a shame, she wished there was more pain. It would help her, help her to feel a little closer to the pain her Viserys must be suffering.

She had cursed fate many times these past days, cursed the Westerosi who took her beloved's kingdom, cursed the Red Witch for tormenting him. Cursed her own weakness most of all.

But then, that was the way of things, the strong ate the weak, as they always did.

She cursed such sentiment.

The only fate she did not curse was that which had brought Viserys into her father's hands. Despite the indignities he suffered, she had seen him grow and prosper in her care, both in height and in mind.

He had never done anything to wrong her, save for the last words of his letter, which filled her heart with a dull ache, that as soon as he returned, he would ask her to marry him.

It was all she had dreamed of for almost three years, a confession of his desire for her in no uncertain terms.

How many nights had she watched him in his bed, unwilling to take him into her own before he asked of it himself? How many times had she dreamed of being wrapped in his Tokar?

And now that dream had turned to ash in her mouth.

Cherazza stood, and turned away from the guards which stood to protect her, to keep her from jumping off the balcony. They were no use if fate said she would live then she would do so, no matter how she cursed it. But she would not partake in the festival of the new year, not this year, nor ever again. The incense that filled the air of Yunkai smelt now only of burnt flesh, not the roses that it signified.

Feeling it's sickly smell clinging to her Tokar, she cast it aside, making for her bath to scrub it also from her skin.

How often had she bathed before Viserys, delighting in the ways his eyes lit up sometimes as he gazed at her body, how often had she admired him which oils he liked the best, only to be met with a small smile.

She knew which one it was, the one with a tiny hint of brimstone, a scent that reminded him of his home.

It was not long before it was the only one she kept hold of, and even now that was the same, as she scrubbed her body clean with the scent that reminded her of her love.

It was wonderful and heady, and for a moment she could almost feel his embrace.

Then that too fell to ashes, leaving nothing behind but her own lonely body in a tub of gradually cooling water and oil.

She dried and cleaned herself as she left the sight behind. Tugging lightly at her stomach, too skinny now, she had not been eating as much since he went to battle the Witch and nothing in the last few days.

She wondered if he would even recognize her on his return, though she knew he certainly would.

She sighed, collapsing onto her bed.

And what good would her anguish do him?

If he still lived then should she let herself waste away to death? That seemed unlikely to please him, and yet she could find no will for finance, for managing her slaves, or for aiding her father. Such things just seemed so pointless in her mind now.

Some traitorous part of her brain said that they still needed to be done.

With a creek, she sat to her feet, and as she felt the damp extend to her neck she realized that she was crying again, tears running down into the top of her Tokar. For what little hope remained in her flickered a little less brightly every day.

She staggered to her feet nonetheless, propped along only by that tint candle, that command that she should not let herself fall to ruin on the off chance she might someday find her beloved again.

She felt profound loneliness overtake her as she realized she would likely be doing it without him behind her for days yet to come.

Even as she went about her tasks, the tears didn't stop.

They wouldn't for a long time yet.