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black irises & wine

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There's a clattering of metal in the Great Hall followed by a pained, high yelp.

"Stupid boy! Get up!" One of the northern men turns a startling shade of purple from his rage, shouting down on a gangly boy with yellow hair. A tray of wine goblets upended, their red-liquid contents gleaming on the stones. "Pick up this mess!"

Daenerys approaches, quickly separating from Tyrion and Missandrei. Her head held high, regal and steady.

"Forgive me, I did not see what happened," she speaks up, examining the steward grumbling and half-bowing in her direction coolly. The boy scrambles on his hands and knees, keeping his head lowered. "What has he done to deserve to be struck like this?"

There's a period of awkward, fearful silence before the man glares at the reddening boy kneeling.

"Your Queen asked you a question, boy! Tell'er!"

The boy flinches up when a violent gesture lunges for his head. "I…spilled the wine…" he murmurs tearfully.

"And the leek soup in the kitchens, Your Grace. It was meant to be served for Lord Stark. That warrants a flogging, I expect."

"You'll do no such thing," Daenerys says, never losing her mindful, softly commanding tone.

This man — a highly esteemed steward to Winterfell — blanches.

"My Queen—"

"Yes, I am your Queen." Daenery's pale violet eyes widen. Her pupils darkening, expanding. As if a touch of dragon-wildness lives inside her bones. "Perhaps your concerns would be best suited elsewhere while he cleans himself up."

He bows his head, storming out, kicking one of the wine-glittering, silvered goblets.

Stunned silent, the boy gazes up from dabbing the spilled red wine.

Daenerys's fingers gently cradle to his chin, urging his laurel-green eyes to remain on her. "If he harms you again, or your family… come straight to me," Daenerys whispers, stern-faced. "Understood?"

"Y-yes." A gulping, timid noise. "Yes, Your Grace."

Daenerys examines him for another long moment, before letting go, strolling back to her advisors waiting patiently.

As soon as they're out of view, the boy rises to his feet, huffing.

Arya peels off the boy's face from her own. He died of wound's inflection at an inn Arya stayed at. She carved his face, running him through with Needle after he attempted to rape in the middle of the night.

So… the Dragon Queen cares for the lowest of servants?

Perhaps she judged her too harshly, Arya considers.