𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑺 ; a sin-eater . did you find your bitch in me? oh you're abominable socially. you're just a little bit too much like me ( ... ) dependent and private blog affiliated with 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗋𝗈𝗍 , featuring rhaella targaryen.
closed starter for rhaella targaryen @eatensins
set on the second day during the tournaments
there were days when aegon would have entered his names in the lists, the few moments when he could be just like everyone else and to let off a little steam through the blows of lance or blade, but with everything that has been happening with his parents, he knew now was not the time to allow himself those small moments of entertainment. instead, he found himself in the targaryen viewing box, watching with only slight jealousy as the single combat lists began. pouring himself a cup of wine, he took one of the seats next his family, ready to see who might come out on top. "good morrow, sister," aegon greeted. "have you given your favor to someone? who are we rooting for today?"
࿔ “ brother , ” rhaella mutters, swallowing the instinct to come closer along with the rest of her wine, nearly emptying her goblet. the aftertaste is bitter. “ my favor? oh , what a foolish thing to ask. i have yet to find a man capable of captivating my attention. ” it's not, of course, for a lack of effort on their part. no, she knows well enough that men would line themselves up just to catch a glimpse of her face. it's only that she has no desire to gaze upon theirs. “ i had planned on rooting for you, but you've robbed me of that pleasure. all of my gold coins now sit collecting dust when they could've been tripled. ” is it mockery or the highest praise? or is it both — the two edges of the same blade that rhaella wields? which edge will he cut himself upon? “ perhaps i should've volunteered myself. that would've given my good man errick quite a fright. ”
set during the fourth day of celebrations: plays and performances. tucked away towards the back of the tent is a little brother and his elder sister, @eatensins, attention beginning to fade from the performers on the lifted stage.
aemon usually does not mean to act like such a little brother. he is sure that if his father were to see him right now, he would scold him for acting like a child, but what could be so wrong in finding comfort in his sister? it's not like anyone was paying attention to them anyways, they were tucked all the way in the back and everyone was too focused on the performance to even take notice. he uses it as an opportunity to lean himself against rhaella a bit, the crowd of people making him more nervous than he wished to admit. if they noticed them, then they would have to play pleasantries and this was the only day where he was able to be away from duties for just a few moments.
"rhae," aemon's voice is quiet, barely above a whisper as he speaks to her. "any chance you want to get out of here? i was thinking of taking a ride out into the fields beyond the city." he was sure that someone would be unhappy with him getting onto a horse without supervision, but he was fine and he would have his sister with him, so nothing could truly go wrong. "i just do not know how much more i can take of constant love confessions on this stage."
࿔ once, supposedly, rhaella had read that siblings could share the same dream if their heads were in close proximity. reality, much to her chagrin, proved the opposite. love, nonetheless, unlike the dreams she often had, trickled down with ease. think what you will, speak ill, but without aemon, she might have never made it this far. it's of course a natural contradiction, an incongruous thing to claim, yet it's true all the same. she loves him in a way one loves something that is inevitable; not with logic, but with the heart, evermore, until the day she dies.
“ nyke vestri jorrāelza naejot , ” i thought you'd never ask, she says with a laugh, winding her arms around his shoulders, enveloping him like a cloak. she feels, for a moment's reprieve, like a child again, no older than ten, speaking in a language that half of westeros wished to understand yet could seldom truly learn. rhaella oftentimes made it more difficult for most — first by speaking too quickly, then by slipping in words that did not exist at all. it's a game she liked to play. just not with most. her only ally was aemon, to whom she had told the meaning of each and every made-up word. “ erric se sȳzdaghon hen kyñ'gsgüaurrdën rhaenagon rōva rȳbasorysion rȳ qēraghon syt īlva. ” errick and the rest of the kingsguard will certainly find pleasure in trying to find us. “ vezof jāhor syt jēda, ēdruta syt jēda. ” that ought to be more interesting for them than this play.
for @eatensins' rhaella targaryen. kings landing, the second night. nearing the end of yet another feast.
the sounds of feasting and revelry faded to a tolerable din from where he stood on the balcony. the evening air was stifling, but the noise within had driven him out for a moment’s respite. far below, the blackwater churned dark and restless against the shore. unfamiliar, as everything here seemed to be. avan had only just eased the tension from his shoulders when footsteps sounded behind him, drawing nearer. his jaw tightened. he was not surprised she had followed him, yet the thought irked him all the same. " princess. " he dipped his head in greeting as he turned to face her. the title was stiff between them, a distinction that ought to serve them both well. not for the first time that evening, his eyes found hers. " you'll miss the final course. "
࿔ let it be known that she did not seek him out with proclivity and intention, she was conjured. ghosts and possessed women always are. they have no choice in the matter. “ lord stark, ” the very man who occupied a strange corner of her ghastly mind — not because she had given him such a place, but because no one else could fill it, however hard she tried to imagine someone else in his stead. “ as will you,” rhaella says slowly, as one does when making a confession. “ i fear my type of hunger can't be sated with something as simple as food. wine, cakes, roasted meats, it all becomes too repetitive. ” if only she could sink her teeth into something tender that would sustain her. but nothing does, nothing ever could. she holds his gaze then, refusing to be the first to look away. “ do you like the view? of the blackwater bay? the higher you are, the more beautiful it looks. ”
even without the silver-gold hair that eleanor has come to recognize as targaryen, she would have recognized the woman as a princess. there is something in the way she carries herself, something that sets her apart from the rest of the court. still, a smile touches eleanor's lips as she falls into step beside her. "i must be far more important than i realized, if a princess has come seeking me in this forgotten little corner of the castle." the words are light, but her curiosity is genuine. if the feast has already begun, why is the woman here, closer to the trees than the courtiers?
she hums softly. "my brother has spoken highly of you, your highness." her pale eyes linger on the princess for a moment. "he says we are alike in some ways. that we come from different streams, yet are carried through many of the same waters."
࿔ anyone can be important if she wills it so. all she has to do is point a finger. it is that simple. “ no place is ever truly forgotten as long as someone keeps visiting it, and yet, in a place as big as this, you were quick to recognize me. i think i ought to dye my hair. perhaps blue would suit me. ” it's a prerogative and birthright of lesser-known lords and ladies to revel in anonymity and comfort of their ever-present mediocrity. rhaella, on the contrary, would always have to fight for it.
“ and what does your brother speak of me? ” her eyes find elenor's, the purple in them deepening, the colour of a bruise that has been pressed on. for a moment, she feels as though she has been plunged into the same waters the woman speaks of, glacial and torrential, waters ready to drag her under. “ there's no one like me, my lady. and that is life's greatest tragedy. ” to have a body is to have a bad dream. to share a curse with a father whom half of the kingdom calls mad is a different type of purgatory. she knows that the woman before her would not understand. “ i admire your bravery. many people would never dare to compare themselves to a princess. ”
closed starter for princess rhaella targaryen; the red keep gardens — @eatensins
The red keep seemed determined to place people in one another's paths whether they wished it or not. selyse had spent much of the morning navigating unfamiliar corridors, servants, and the endless stream of arriving nobles. every turn appeared to reveal another lord, another lady, another conversation waiting to happen, it was little wonder that so many looked exhausted already. it was during one such walk through the gardens that a familiar figure caught her attention, immediately she slowed her pace. "your grace," the greeting was accompanied by a respectful inclination of her head, proper without becoming excessive and when she straightened, a small smile softened her expression. "i hope the day has been treating you kindly," for a moment her gaze drifted toward where the children played in the near distance. their laugh always gave her peace, which felt like an odd sentiment in a place like kings landing. "i confess i had forgotten quite how overwhelming the capital becomes during gatherings such as these," amusement touched her voice. "though i suspect those of us arriving have it easier than those tasked with receiving half of westeros beneath one roof." the observation was offered lightly, though not without sincerity. "have you found a moment's peace since the festivities began, or has the realm already claimed every spare hour?"
࿔ her eldest brother, or rather, both of them to be precise, she immediately thinks, are far more suited to this conversation than she is. prosaic plaudits, tête-à-têtes, dialogues held just for the sake of appearances without any true weight to them, ought to be held with aegon, clad in the full panoply of kingship and endowed with both patience and inertia to keep them going. “ lady tully, ” she says, offers a nod of acknowledgment, her countenance benevolent yet unwilling to yield and alter itself, even for something as simple as a smile. “ if i say anything that would counter that assumption, i fear that you will find me unpleasant, ” none of this is sirena's fault. there's a gap between a dragon and a trout; one is meant for silver skies, one for water. “ it's the capital for a reason. it wouldn't be the same without the rush, and the endless buzzing, and the sea of bodies. ” yet now she longs for dragonstone. “ hardly, my lady, but i don't believe that i'm allowed to whine. merely because i haven't actually lifted a finger. nor have any of the royals, ” a beat later, she laughs, the tension slowly easing from her shoulders as she pats the empty space beside her in a silent invitation. “ tell me, have you seen anything interesting, peculiar even, on your way here? ”
for the masquarade, rhaella came swathed in delicate fabrics and a cloth-of-silver that, under the right light, seemed to change colour. her thin veil, that was predominantly covering her face, was quickly discarded in favor of an intricate lace mask that covered her eyes. her jewels, pearls and emeralds, were worn around her legs, but were, to an untrained eye, hard to spot.
in the days since her arrival, eleanor had spent most of her waking hours in the godswood of the red keep — if such a place could be called that. her raven, bael, had taken to nesting in the great oak at its heart, and so lady blackwood followed her bird, seeking refuge from the sea of unfamiliar faces that filled the castle. she had been so eager to leave raventree hall behind, but now she found herself longing for it. she missed its familiar halls and ancient trees, with gnarled limbs that seemed far more alive than the young woods of the crownlands. the godswood offered little comfort compared to home, yet she lingered there all the same.
but duty called her away. her absence would soon be noticed by her siblings, and the purpose of a feast was to be seen, after all.
the passages leading from the godswood stood silent and near deserted. such places served little purpose in a castle ruled by different gods and different customs. yet as eleanor made her way toward the banquet hall, she found she was not entirely alone. "i did not expect to find another soul in these corridors," she said. "are you heading to the feast, my liege?"
࿔ “ the feast is well underway, ” she says, matter-of-factly, tsking her tongue, a look of faux disappointment settling over her features. “ and you're late. they've sent me here to fetch you, my lady. ” then she smiles. it's the first indicator that she's lying. the second ought to be the omission of a name. she can hardly tell who this woman is. lastly, why would a princess be tasked with such a menial thing? omitted names and lies aside, what she can't deny is that she is hungry. not for something substantial as the food that had cost the keep's cooks two sleepless nights. if she could, rhaella would only feast on mischief, day and night, until she's nothing but bones.
“ it's a shame you deny us your presence. father, i hope, won't hold it against you. at least you needn't worry about me. my resentment will be placed elsewhere, far from this beating heart. ” it's a promise that she can but obliquely doesn't want to keep. not yet at least. “ come now, follow me. ”
" do you think the people will get into the spirit of the masquerade? " the lady - in - waiting questions as they roam through the keep, arms intertwined and skirts swishing quietly against the stone floors. dark gaze flits around at each and every new face that steps into king's landing at behest of the king's summons. she though of the keep almost like home, especially within the last decade, the woman at her side more familiar than the four walls of her childhood bedroom. to see the place filled with those that may not have the best of intentions? well, it made cat more nervous than she would care to admit. " it would be horrible if your father went to such trouble to plan it only for people to put on a dull mask and think that's good enough. "
࿔ “ there's a difference between wanting to be here and having to be here. most, my dearest, fall into the latter category. but fine wine and food ought to satisfy their most primal urges. ” a king(dom) is a body, its subjects a parasite in need of a feast. two moons ago, rhaella dreamt of her father. witnessed how snakes, black as night, slithered from his mouth and ears and every orifice, and vanished beneath the floor boards. now is not the time to speak of it. “ i do hope that father will be spared of disappointment. ” she echoes, leaning closer to rest her head and chin upon the gentle knoll of catelyn's shoulder, needing only her warmth. “ in the meantime, we must find suitable jewels for the gathering. i assume most of the ladies will be wearing theirs around their necks, but perhaps i could instead bedeck my thighs with precious gemstones. you, of course, are encouraged to follow my lead. ”
( jessica alexander, 29, she/her ) – king maelor offers his welcome to princess rhaella targaryen, of dragonstone. across the realm, they are praised as independent and adventurous, though courtly whispers insist they can also be elusive and stubborn behind closed doors. still, their allegiance is said to lie with herself. their presence evokes imagery of marvel at just how unashamed she is, never knowing anything other than silk and milk upon skin, a capacity for pleasure which is large, movingly so. enough to inspire any storyteller. with so many tales in circulation, separating truth from fiction may prove no easy task.
i.
FULL NAME RHAELLA TARGARYEN NICKNAMES CALLED ONLY BY THOSE SHE LIKES ELLA, MAKE NO ATTEMPTS OTHERWISE TITLES PRINCESS OF DRAGONSTONE, SECOND BORN DATE OF BIRTH 12TH DAY OF THE 4TH MOON AGE TWENTY9 PLACE OF BIRTH DRAGONSTONE, ON A DREARY NIGHT OF RAIN AND STORM GENDER AND PRONOUNS CIS WOMAN & SHE / HER RELIGION FAITH OF THE SEVEN . LANGUAGE COMMON TONGUE , HIGH VALYRIAN ( THE ONLY WAY TO GET HER TO LISTEN ) , SUMMER TONGUE
ii.
HAIR TARGARYEN BLONDE, FOLLOWING, OR RATHER SETTING LATEST WESTEROSI TRENDS. LONG, WELL-MAINTAINED, BRUSHED EVERY EVENING BY HER LADIES EYES VIOLET AND WILD HEIGHT 5 FEET 6 INCHES BUILD SLIM, THAT OF A WILLOW TREE BENDING SCENT VIOLETS AND LIGHT CITRUS, WITH A METALIC AFTERTASTE IN THE MOUTH DOMINANT HAND RIGHT ALLERGIES NONE THAT SHE KNOWS OF, OTHER THAN BORING PEOPLE SCARS TBA DISTINGUISHING FEATURES HER HAIR THAT NEARLY REACHES HER HIPS CLOTHING STYLE ALLERGIC TO ANYTHING THAT'S NOT SILK AND VELVET, SHE WILL ALWAYS SPLURGE ON FINE MATERIALS AND WON'T EVER SETTLE FOR SOMETHING SIMPLE
MOTHER QUEEN ALYS ARRYN, QUEEN OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS FATHER KING MAELOR TARGARYEN, KING OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS SIBLING(S) TARGARYEN A, OLDER BROTHER, PRINCE AEMON TARGARYEN, YOUNGER BROTHER, PRINCESS RHAEGAN TARGARYEN, YOUNGER SISTER SIGNIFICANT OTHER(S) N/A CHILDREN DON'T MAKE HER LAUGH OTHER ARRYNS AND DAYNES
second born, the spare. her mother's womb is the first resting place. she grows up knowing that if something were to befall her brother, she would be the one to take his place. let's not think of it now. she's spent her entire life mulling over that thought.
from an early age, rhaella was well-aware that she was different, strange, plagued by something that not even those closest to her, those bleeding the same blood, would ever understand. she had begged the gods, day and night to pass the gift to someone else. the oldest or the youngest, as long as it was not her, it did not matter. what irked her the most was that they called it a gift, instead of a curse. the visions were violent, vivid, and hardly kind, and she always tried to turn a blind eye. through her childhood and teenhood, she rarely spoke of the things she saw, imagined, or witnessed in her dreams, keeping almost every premonition close to her chest like a secret. maybe she was selfish, maybe she was just a girl, afraid of being declared mad before the whole world.
before the illness claimed the dragons, she had one, named silverfyre, after its luminous scales, and a dragon egg that never hatched. she had foreseen her death, and had prayed for the illness to take her instead of silverfyre, but fate did not listen.
for the longest time, as a child, rhaella only spoke in high valyrian and refused to use to common tongue. those unfamiliar with the language had initially assumed that she was mute, but the truth's that she's only stubborn ( an perhaps an elitist ). her love for other languages eventually took over and she became less hostile towards the common tongue, though even now, she may occasionally refuse to reply in it.
as a targaryen princess, rhaella knows her duty, even if she seldom does anything to fulfill it. she's volatile, headstrong, and worst of all, elusive, which makes her almost impossible to grasp. she's certainly an unpredictable political ally, due to two simple facts. she hardly listens yet involves herself in politics all the same, and ultimately does things that benefit her, and those she cares about ( the circle of friends and foes is always fluctuating ) without sparing a second thought to any casualties she may leave behind.
to make matters more complicated, she's unmarried, and is therefore a great bargaining tool upon her father's chess board. she has, however, earned herself the title of a temptress. some would claim it's just vile tongues trying to besmirch the targaryen princess, but there's truth to what they say. perhaps she'll never marry to spite both her father and brother heir, as she believes it's her prerogative to invite anyone she likes into her bed, as much as it is to refuse any suitor that they deem fit. people either want her, hate her, or wish to be her. she's the salt that fucks the wound.
she's been known to take the side of her lovers, and switch her loyalties, which does make her a troubling figure in the family. it raises the question of whether or not she's disloyal or simply foolish, blinded by the promise of something greater. fucked her way out of weird girl allegations.
tw: slightly disturbing imagery, it's hard to classify it, but it mentions child birth in a sense. her lover girl nature has not left her spared from awful tongues in more than one way. wild rumors about her giving birth not to a baby, but a creature that resembles a dragon were spread around the red keep and king's landing. ( none of it was true. she was just a victim of a westerosi smear campaign )
no longer shuns her gift as much as she used to. the point, of course, would be to either embrace it or to be entirely swallowed by it. as a dragondreamer, the fact that she knows more than most does put her in danger, while simultaneously securing her a higher chance of survival. she's not necessarily interested in stability, although she does care about the legacy of the targaryen family. it's possible that madness may claim her someday, even if she has always been afraid of being declared mad for being the only one in her family with visions of the future.
she's quiet studious and is fascinated by languages, so she taught herself how to speak the summer tongue in the process. she's fascinated by many things, especially by knowledge.
westerosi trend setter in terms of clothing and style. whatever she wears, the rest of the court girlies will follow. she puts great effort into her looks / how she presents herself, so it's only natural to want to emulate that. oh she's wearing a diadem around her neck? well you cannot afford.
prefers to bathe in milk, that's almost basically boiling. loves a hot bath and the milk supposedly keeps her skin looking fresh.
POSSIBLE PLOTS
former or current lover(s) that are entangled in the worst co-depent situation(ship). it doesn't have to be public, even though it could possibly be, but one thing is for certain. it's toxic and beautiful in a way that others wouldn't understand. she aids them to get their heart's desire with the help of her dreams/visions ( this would naturally be discussed ), and they in turn, support every ill thought she's ever had. to love is to want to be entirely absorbed by someone. what they have is worse. if they could, they would devour each other.
that one person whose death ( or something bad that's going to happen to them ) she lowkey keeps predicting. listeen, this is a long shot, and they certainly don't have to die ( it could be like in 50 years ), but i thought it'd be fun to play around with this concept and have her drop hints ( that we'd talk about ) to this muse, simply because she can, or just to spite them. maybe it's even just an injury, the number of children that they'll have, but the spookier, the juicier. you're a knight who is about to joust and she tells you that the horse will crush your leg type of deal. gender neutral obvi. bonus point if they're genuinely pissed and tell her that they'll kill her. babe, it's not going to change anything.
ladies who were at some point, are her ladies in waiting / have been with her since she was a child. i'll have you know that it's the greatest of honors to keep the company of a princess and i'll have you know that she treated them exceptionally well. jewels and the prettiest dresses for all her ladies.
someone who tried getting close to her family/siblings, but their plans ended up being ruined by none other than rhaella. whatever their true intentions were ( possible allies, romance with the other ), she made sure to crush it.
a potential candidate for a betrothal, who is about to land in hot waters, maybe even literally, if this plan is set in motion. by being linked to her, their status is highly elevated, and she in turn is reduced to a single word - bride.
childhood and lifelong friend, someone who is her heart and carries it with them no matter where they go. she doesn't open easily and she is fickle, but she allowed them to get close.
maybe one of the vile tongues that keeps spreading rumors about her. lowkey, they do not fuck with her teehee