a rhaena targaryen story â hope is a dangerous thing 2/2 inspo and gifs by @queensend
warning! depictions of incest, harsh language, murder, violence, abusive relationships, and mentions of rape
It had been a fortnight since that eventful night, the night her husband made her sing, and the night the witch Tyanna died. He had made a vow to place a prince in her womb, a prince he would never have, and yet he did not return to her bed. It was a relief knowing she was safe from his touch for some time, but it only consumed Rhaena with anxiety and panic. She played with the rings on her fingers and soothed herself at night with Valyrian songs, but it did nothing to calm her restlessness. Rhaena was a prisoner, a caged dragon, she did not know what occurred in the realm or even within the Red Keep. She was starved of information about her family and her daughterâs well-being. She pleaded with maids and servants who entered her chambers but no one would tell her anything, all of them fearful of the King. But their silence, her husbandâs absence, and small council meetings dealing with traitors told her something was amiss.
Her paranoia made her more observant, she watched as the chambermaids cleaned her rooms and brought her meals. Day and night, she stopped begging and simply watched them. It was then she noticed how ten became seven, seven became five, and five became three. It was slowly becoming more and more obvious: servants slowly disappearing, the castle halls losing all sound until it was utter silence. Maegorâs tight grip on Westeros was suffocating and he was losing his hold on control, his hold on power, and his hold on the iron throne. But he shielded her from it, and she wondered if he truly only acted as such to hide the truth from her or himself. For a man that prides himself on strength, it would be hard for him to accept the reality, that he was not worthy of the iron throne.
The silence Rhaena had become accustomed to over the weeks had come to an erupt end, she would soon be in the company of her husband.
What little remained of the servants and handmaidens emerged as they stormed upon her chambers after midday. They swept and cleaned the rooms, fed the fire in the hearth, and changed the old bedsheets for new clean linens. Rhaena simply watched from the window seat in the alcove, it wasn't until they brought a large copper bath that she questioned their motives.
âWe work by His Majestyâs orders. He wishes to be with your Grace tonight, and commands for the rooms to be cleaned and for us to attend to you, my Queenâ, the old household maid replied sternly.
She knew this would come, she knew he would return to her, he always did. No matter where she went Maegor would always find her.
The shrew of a woman resumed her work and ordered the servants around the room. Rhaena turned her head and looked to the skies, not a single cloud in sight. A storm is brewing.
The old woman snapped Rhaena from her musing, âShall her Grace, remove her gown and enter the bath? Or does my Queen need assistance in that as well?â. Her small suspicious eyes examined Rhaena from head to toe, reminding her of the Dowager Queen Visenya.
Rhaena relented and submitted to their will, as she had done since returning to city. She glared at the old woman. Were she a true dragon she would have bathed the old woman in Dragonfire, but she couldn't and she mustn't, she must save her whatever fire she had left for an even worse evil. They stripped her of her gown and the chemise underneath, until she stood bare in front of them. Their eyes staring and prodding as if they were skinning her to find something hidden deeper underneath. All they would find is a sleeping dragon.
The bronze tub was filled with steaming hot water, the room was filled with spiced and floral scents from the expensive Lyseni oils. The maids washed her sliver hair with utter delicacy, but scrubbed her skin raw until it was red. They dressed her in a soft white shift made from Myrish lace, and applied drops of perfume on her neck and wrists. Her long hair was left to dry freely without any braids but was brushed with an ivory comb. All of them gifts from her husband, all of them made to bring him pleasure.
When Rhaena looked at her reflection in the looking glass, she couldnât recognize herself; she saw a meek, submissive, and fragile wife, nothing like the dragon princess she once was. It was already nightfall, and her handâs trembled. A dragon does not fear, she reminded herself, a dragon does not fear. She has lain with him numerous times before, another night would be nothing.
When the young maid attending her laid her hands on top of her shaking ones, she all but shrieked. The young mousy girl looked around the room, making sure no one was watching, no was looking. She placed a small vial into her hands, and looked up into Rhaenaâs eyes with pity, âFor the pain, your Graceâ, she whispered.
A dragon does not fear, she repeated, but she was afraid. âWhat pain? What is this?â, she all but sobbed looking down at the vial in her palm.
âMilk of the poppy, Your Graceâ, the maid whispered, she stopped to looked around once again. Sheâs paranoid and scared, just like me, Rhaena thought. âHis Majesty has been in a rage and wrathful since he heard of your brother, Jaehaerysâ proclamation. Of the uprising and rebellion he is inciting. He will surely be rough with you this night, a few drops would numb the pain that is to come, all of it will be as if it never happenedâ.
A warmth bloomed within her chest, but before Rhaena could thank the stranger. She bowed and scurried away. She looked to small vial once again, her mind racing with the news she just heard. Her observations were right, heâs loosing his power, his control. Maegor is loosing the iron throne to a boy of four and ten, she could almost laugh. The warmth in her chest grew and she didnât notice the smile forming on her lips, hope was a strange thing.
âIf that was all, my Queen, by your leaveâ, the old woman hissed, but she had no fire for the crone - only a smile.
âI would have wine brought before His Majesty arrives. Not a Dornish vintage, however, but Arbor gold. Only the finest for our Kingâ, she commanded with sweetness in her voice, hope in her heart, and madness in her mind.
The old woman nodded curtly and with her maids, all of them left the rooms after bowing before Rhaena.
The Arbor gold she had ordered was brought before her swiftly upon a golden platter with two golden chalices. When she was finally alone, Rhaena rushed toward the tray of wine. She poured herself a cup and swallowed the sweet liquid down. She played with the vial in hand, thinking about all the possibilities. A few drops ïżŒfor numbness, and the entirety for oblivion. When she made her decision and filled both goblets with wine. Seven drops of poppy for herself, and the rest for her husband. It was madness, it was hope, and the poppy gave her a sense of courage.
Rhaena sat on the edge of the large feather bed. Her fingers traced the stitching of luxurious bedding, while she cradled her wine in her lap. The thoughts and ideas rushed through her mind. It would be dangerous, but it was hope. The hope of freedom, the hope of living, the hope of her daughters alive and thriving. The best battle plans are planned, thought out thoroughly, and executed ïżŒat a certain time; however, some plans are made during the moment in the heat of battle. Her purple eyes scoured the room, she heard the whispers of the passageways, and if there was a way out of her room, there was a way to find Aerea and escape the castle. However, if she were to escape the city she would need Dreamfyre â.
The sound of the doors to her prison unlocking pulled her out of her thoughts, and she was greeted by the sight of her husband. She rose from the bed instantly and lowered her gaze. The sound of his boots echoed against the walls as he approached her. She could feel the warmth of his presence, could smell the scent of his person: it was a pungent fragrance of rosemary used to conceal the other scents of ash and blood. His hands are large, rough, and calloused from the years of wielding a sword and dragon-riding; and yet his touch was gentle and cautious ïżŒwhen they brushed against her cheek. When she lifted her gaze, her purple met his cold lavender, and yet she saw something else in his eyes, she could not name it but she feared it.
Maegor towered over her, he couldn't stop touching her, and his eyes continued to ensnare her. With a wicked grin on his face, one which she desired to slap off, he asked, âHave you missed my company, wife?â.
She held his gaze and answered sweetly and obediently, âYes, Your Grace. A fortnight passed since I last been in your presence, itâs a great joy to see you, for itâs you all I thought of sinceâ â thinking of all the ways to kill you.
The hum of approval she received as a reply, told her it was exactly what he wanted to hear. His hand gripped her nightgown, his fingers feeling the material of the fabric. He took the chalice from her hand and he drank what remained of her wine. His expression changed then, confusion grew on the lines of his face. He looked into the cup with suspicion.
She froze when she saw the look on his face, and in a panic she responded before he even asked, âArbor gold, Your Grace. You expressed a dislike for the Dornish vintage, so I ask the maids to bring us the finest the Reach has to offerâ.
He softened at her reply, and placed the chalice back into her hands. âThen you must bring me another cup, wifeâ.
She nodded and lowered her gaze, she walked towards the tray of wine and could feel his ever-burning gaze. When she turned to look back, she saw him whilst he was undressing. He gave her a savage grin when he caught her gaze, she smiled sourly. Rhaena placed the empty cup on the tray and focused on the special one she prepared just for him. Her knuckles turned white when she tightly gripped the chalice, anxiety, and fear rolling in her stomach threatening to her ill. She took a sip of the wine, praying for numbness, praying for courage, praying for the strength to do whatever she needed to survive. A dragon does not fear. She took a deep breath and returned to his side as a very loving wife.
She placed the golden chalice â as well as her fate, in his enormous hands. Her fingers lingered on his arms, caressing him with a softness. Her purple eyes flickered up and looked up at him with a longing through her lashes. She walked away towards the large bed seductively, knowing he was watching her every move. Rhaena slid the shift off her shoulders, allowing the thin fabric to pool at her feet, leaving her all exposed to Maegor.
Rhaena looked back him with a mischievous smile, âShall we go to bed, husband?â.
Maegorâs hungry gaze was all she needed as an answer. He drowned the cup of wine and threw the chalice to the side. In what seemed to be mere seconds, he was grabbing her to his side and devoured her in a ravenous kiss. They were wild and harsh kisses that bruised her lips. All of her husbandâs kisses left bruises on her body. He kissed her until they were gasping for air, his hands were touching every inch of skin on her body from groping her ass to her breasts. The poppy seemed to work for whilst he found pleasure, she found numbness.
âI missed your touch, I missed your scent, I missed the taste of youâ, he mumbled against her ear.
Soon she was off her feet and on her back, like a common whore. His hands held her down against the soft silk bedding, and his tongue on the swell of her breast. She responded to his harsh hands with scratches and bite marks. He suckled her breasts as if he were a babe, drawing out unwanted gasps and moans, as he left her nipples red and hard. She loathed the way her body reacted, the sounds she made, for it all brought him pleasure. He should enjoy it while it lasts.
She could feel the thickness of his manhood against her inner thigh, âNoâ, she yelled, knowing what he intended to do. He looked up from her breasts like an upset child.
Her breath heavied with fear, she ran her fingers through his silver hair, and she pulled him into a kiss. âLet me, Maegorâ, she whispered against his lips.
Rhaena mounted him as if he were Dreamfyre and rode him as such â she hadn't ridden her mount in weeks and a little practice wouldn't hurt, Rhaena thought. But when she looked down, it wasn't the blue dragon that she saw between her thighs but her husband and she only felt even more disgusted than before. She could feel his firm grip on her skin as his hands wandered from her hips to her full breasts â knowing that bruises would cover her pale skin by daylight. So she closed her eyes, trying to ignore his repulsive touch, and thought of something else more pleasant. Rhaena thought that this would be the perfect opportunity to kill him right there and then. She wished to take a Valyrian steel dagger and plunge it into his blackened heart, and stab him over and over again. She would relish in the feeling of both his cock inside her and his blood all over her â she could easily imagine the feeling of the warm red substance dripping over her naked skin. And it was such an exciting image in her mind that she felt herself reaching her peak, and as she did so she sunk her nails deeply into his chest, she could hear his deep groans of pain or pleasure, she did not care for it only added to her fantasy.
When she reached ecstasy, she cried out a moan of pleasure. ïżŒHowever, the feeling passed when she opened her eyes, the dream had ended, and Rhaena met Maegorâs cold lustful gaze instead of the looks of agony and surprise she had imagined. Her body was scalding, beads formed on her brow as sweat slicked upon her back. Her breathing heavied as did the feeling in her breast from the vigorous riding, but the burning stare between the two remained.
It was in the silence that they share when he flip her over onto her back, for Maegor was both aroused and frustrated â he was losing his power and grip on the throne so he wouldn't allow such a thing in the marriage bed. He began thrusting into her vigorously and harder. She used this to her advantage and kissed him savagely, biting down on his lip and drawing blood into her mouth, and she even moaned his name serval times. All of it made his blood boil hotter, allowing his mind to be fogged by burning arousal and the poppy milk. He continue to fuck her multiple times throughout the night until he was utterly and completely spent. With one finally thrust he spilled inside of her, filling her with his seed, believing he had made a little princling that night. Maegor collapsed on top of her, his head once more lying between her breasts as he tried to catch his breath.
âA little princeling was certainly made this nightâ, he muttered against her skin. Over my dead body, Rhaena thought.
He kissed her once more before rolling over to the other side of the bed. He closed his eyes and allowed sleep to claim him. His breathing heavied, she watched as his chest rise and fall. Rhaena didn't know how long she watched him but she waited, waited until she absolutely certain he was deeply asleep. It wasn't until she heard the first sound of thunder that she risen from the bed. She quickly and quietly dressed into her riding leathers as she continued to watch Maegor. She had fucked him into oblivion, she smiled at the thought, of how the mighty have fallen. She made may to his discarded clothing and began to search his garments for the map detailing his hidden passageway. Her key to freedom. She had found it and the hidden entrance in the room, she should of left then and there. But she couldn't help herself.
Rhaena turned back to Maegorâs sleeping form, she leaned over him and whispered into his ear, âI found my release to the image of your dead body. I hope you die screamingâ. He only mumbled in regards as a response and moved to sleep on his side.
As she begins to make her escape a glint of steel catches her eyes â Blackfrye. It was the sword of the Targaryen kings, Maegorâs most prized possession, but most of all it was her beloved grandfatherâs sword. The heavy Valyria steel sword rested against the fireplace, the rubies in its sheath and hilt shining as if made from the fire itself. Maegor had propped it there when he'd entered, but she'd been too consumed with her task to notice until now. Now, it seems to call to her.
With her familyâs ancestral sword in hand, she slipped threw the walls of her prison: to the arms of her daughter, to the wings of Dreamfyre, to the sweet embrace of freedom. Her husband should have known better, hope is a dangerous thing.
