Lion Head Mesa εκ νέου

rhaenyra immediately became suspicious of a truth that should have been obvious to her from the beginning: the weight of her titles held no bearing here. the servant made a grand spectacle of peering around, likely in search of the royal guard which, traditionally, should have accompanied rhaenyra outside of her own lands at all times. tradition, yes, but the seahawks were well-known for their unique independence. often her kingly brother himself called upon allies with naught but the sea at his back, if only to show that he had no fear.
tavina would have known that, if the empire of the starlit shores was known to akashingo. rhaenyra followed, subdued despite her incomplete understanding of the woman's words. mourning, she understood. the rest she could only infer.
«akashingo mourns... a royal?» she questioned softly, thoughtful as she recalled distant lessons. she'd learned only a small scattering of words, various phrases and terms to describe herself and her people. mourning had been part of the crisis lesson, she remembered. royal, the introduction lesson. rhaenyra had meant to ask rather if one of their nobility had passed, for surely they would not mourn a mere merchant or peasant so, but she did not know the word barbarians used for their nobles. royal was the closest word she possessed.