#✹ queue.

[dracharenae]

✹ —   RHAENYS' HEAD TILTS, A CURIOUS AND GENTLE smile tugging at her lips as she regards the young master hobbit. leaned back against a tree, her arms folded over her torso, her mind had been elsewhere . . . distant and pondering, thinking about home. she misses it, dearly. but the world outside of valyria has proven to be . . . fascinating, to say the least. lovely in its own way. she has some skepticism as to the people outside of her own lands, however, particularly in regards to man. her doubts were shadowed over double by certain types, those who sought power for themselves, those whose hearts have been corrupted. but she has found goodness amidst it all, too, particularly in the ever positive and not so easily peregrin took.

" it is beautiful out here. just you wait, " @walkpathe says.

there is something oddly contagious as to his ever kind nature. his smile is wide, his gaze flickered by a vibrant mischief, and he carries himself in such a way that is almost untouchable. a young hobbit who could conquer worlds if he so desired, in his own way. it is a curious thing. rhaenys had read a great deal about hobbits from her father's library. she thought them to be shy creatures, adverse to those outside of their precious shire. but not peregrin took, particularly not with those friends of his.

her gaze follows his, staring out over an open valley where the sun has started to rise. she wonders if he is referring to the sunrise specifically, or the world as a whole. how much of it has he seen since leaving his shire ? ? ? curious, indeed. " it is, indeed, master took, " she muses, watching as the sun burns golden over the sky. " i must wonder what else of the world you have seen. the sea, perhaps ? ? ? "

[dracharenae]

🐝  *  ―  𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒.

✹   —   ARMOR CLANGS NOISILY FROM THE WOODS, METAL  grating against leather, and echoing softly in the distance. rhaenys pauses every now and again, straining her ears to ensure no one heard it. once certain as to her privacy, she continues applying the layers of armor to herself. she'd been studying and practicing for months, in an effort to get it down quick and smooth. she had hoped to make it to the woods earlier to do this, but she'd been held up by a gaggle of knights trying to woo and court her . . . she'd barely managed to elude their flirtations and requests for her favor. but she's here now. she must make haste, as well. the joust is going to begin soon and she must put her armor on beforehand, then go retrieve her horse. aegon and ser barristan will be waiting for her at the stables - two of her chief conspirators in this matter . . .

perhaps she should have enlisted someone to help her in actually changing into the armor she has started collecting over the last few months, piece by piece as not to draw immediate attention. It doesn't fit as snugly as custom armor would and the pieces do not entirely match. but it is less so about appearances and more so the principle of the matter. a princess does not joust.

a fatal flaw in this is how she most certainly refuses to let anyone tell her what to do. so when some member of her father's council made a quip about the dragon princess standing by and offering favors to worthy knights, and watching from the sidelines rather than participating, what else is she supposed to do ? ? ? she had convinced ser barristan to train her. aegon is going to cover for her, claiming she's ill.

it doesn't even matter if she wins or not. she simply wants to participate. if she happens to knock someone over, then -

rhaenys hisses softly in frustration, a piece of armor cutting into her palm. " fuck, " she says between her teeth. she examines her bleeding palm irritably.

❛  here, let me help you.  ❜

the voice catches her off guard. she drops the arm piece immediately, her hand lunging towards the sword leaned up against the tree. she spins around, face flushed. her long black hair is pulled up into a tightened braid twisted into a bun, though a few loose strands fall into her eyes.

standing in the tree line is @goldenngore the son of mace tyrell. the knight of flowers. she has heard of him, of course, and has seen him around court. the ladies drool for the golden haired knight and his golden armor, though rhaenys hasn't paid much attention to him before. she stares at him for a long moment, unsure how to react as she has her sword pointed accusingly at him. he is not yet rushing to tell her father . . . yet what is she supposed to do ? ? ?

" ser loras, " rhaenys greets, slowly, and lowers the sword. " i'd request you not aid in this matter, lest you be deemed an accomplice when i am inevitably found out. i doubt it would look good for you to be helping the princess participate in a joust. "

[dracharenae]

Followed you for ______, stayed because ______.

@clutchofmuses :: followed you for the hottie muse and curiosity, stayed for creativity, screaming, friendshape person that you arrrreee <3 (and also the gay. And also brandon stark, and also the rest of your characters)

✹   —   YOU HAVE MY WHOLE HEART, EMILY ! ! ! I  love, love, love, love and adore you so deeply - no words can describe how wonderful it has been to have you as a friend and to scream at you about our muses, and to rave on about our fanfics, and all the chaos ! ! !

[dracharenae]

✹   —   RHAENYS TRIES TO QUIET THE WORLD, BY being away from sunspear. when the first sound of rain had called from overhead, she hadn't hesitated. when eyes were low and no one was watching, she'd taken her horse and gone to the ocean. the smell of the sea salt, the cold breeze in her hair, and the rain above remind her of dragonstone. when she's on this beach, with her eyes closed, she can almost pretend she's back there again; her mother alive, with her, aegon alive, and everything as it should be. but doran hates it when she leaves so unannounced. to the world, rhaenys targaryen might be dead. adara sand is oberyn's bastard daughter, a sand snake . . . but doran treads on the edge of caution. rhaenys, however, does not.

at least, she tries to.

but not today.

so she sits on a large log, her legs raised up so her chin might rest on her knees. she's watching the rain sprinkle over the water. it's a light rain, as opposed to the wild storms she is used to at dragonstone. but it's something. it's enough. her horse is tied up under a tree, protected from the elements. and she half-expected herself to be here, alone, for quite sometime until -

❛ You cannot take such risks. You do have responsibilities, ❜ arianne says. @walkpathe

rhaenys tilts her head to peer over her shoulder. a small anger reflects in her violet eyes, now narrowing. she looks very much like a snake in this moment. her body is coiled, threatening to snap. " as i am ceaselessly reminded, " she says, under her breath. her nails dig into her arms, before forcing herself to stand.

" where is the risk, arianne ? ? ? i am just . . . enjoying the rain, " she says, her voice straining against itself. she gestures widely across the shoreline, gesturing to the sapphire waters of the dornish sea, then to the grey skies above them with soft rain falling upon them. " it is bad enough doran keeps me all cooed up. don't start like that, either . . . please. i just . . . i just wanted some peace. "

[dracharenae]

❛ Why do we have to go through all of this when it’s already been decided? ❜ @gelarios asks.

✹   —   " BECAUSE I DO NOT AGREE. "

 rhaenys tilts her chin up, a defiant, little gleam in her bright violet eyes. in spite of how small she is, and how young, she carries herself with a surprising maturity. her hands are firmly set at her sides, resisting to urge to clench her fists. she mustn't appear annoyed or distraught, lest her argument be compromised. as a dragon princess, she must compose herself . . . be steady. unbowed, unbent, unbroken. she repeats these words over and over inside of her head, an endless mantra half-sung and half-yelled by a thousand dornish voices.

her poor father looks tired. rhaenys almost feels badly for bothering him in such a manner, but she simply reminds herself that what she is doing is good. a princess should have a voice. she is the daughter of a dragon and a viper. to be compliant and quiet is not within her own nature.

" i am going to go with you. there is no debate about it, father, " rhaenys says, firmly. her tone leaves no room for debate, though she suspects she is going to be launched by them.

[dracharenae]

“no, it is not,” lyanna answers simply, as there is no other answer to the princess’s accusative words than it. rhaegar has his three-headed dragon, a destiny seemingly filled now that he has his visenya, the she-wolf has her own fate waiting for her, and the gods insist that it is linked to the princess before her. her gods’ voices feel stronger in the presence of the godswood, as they always have when she has sought out their company in the past. of course, the she-wolf is not the only stark to use the godswood, but the fact that young rhaenys is there before the weirwood almost seems to solidify the feeling that they are connected in more ways than imaginable. soon the princess would come to understand it, she was sure.

slowly, she crosses the godswood to stand at rhaenys’ side before the weirwood tree, her grey eyes studying the tree as if she had never seen it before. “can you feel the old ways here as i can?” she whispers so softly as her hand reaches out to trace over the blood red streaks that run from the trees eyes. all weirwood trees were unique beyond imaginable, from the changes in their faces to the looming presence one could feel of the old ways when they were near, to secrets not yet shared between gods and man. she has grown up with this godswood, with the ever-present feeling of the gods around her, yet speaking of it with another is like opening her eyes to it all for the first time. surely, she must seem mad in the eyes of rhaenys.

your grace, lyanna despises the words beyond belief as she did not do what she did for a title but, for the good of the realm though, none would see that until too late. “the three-headed dragon is your father’s prophecy, not my own,” she replies dismissively as she lowers herself to sit before the godswood. rhaegar’s prophecy of the three-headed dragon was one she knew well, as the prince had spared her no details or at least all that was important at the time, but he has continued to speak of it with her since the birth of their son. “why would i tell you of something you already know? i am not your father; no matter what i have done for or with him, we are not the same.”

✹   —   RHAENYS DOES NOT MOVE AS LYANNA COMES TO STAND beside her. her violet eyes remain fixed on the weirwood tree before her, staring into its deep eyes; eyes that seemingly go on forever. she feels something, she supposes. but she cannot tell if it is otherworldly power of simply the mere feeling of being unsettled. the weirwood tree is a frightening thing to behold, after all, especially for those who are god-fearing. but rhaenys stopped being god-fearing the day the lannisters tore down the walls of the red keep, and tried to bring down the ancient house of the dragon. she realized then that the living, the breathing, and the flesh and blood were worth more fear and reverence than that of things who do not bat an eye for the will of their followers. rhaenys used to pray. she prayed the day the red keep was sacked. now she feels nothing towards the gods. still, she does not voice this out loud to lyanna, who stares up at the weirwood tree with reverence. her hand is outstretched, touching its bark and running her fingers over the crimson tears.

" i wish i could, " rhaenys says, instead. " i have a feeling your old gods do not like me here, your grace. " her eyes move across the weirwood tree's face, then over the whole of the godswood. she feels like an outsider here. although she may not believe in the gods - old, new, or otherwise - she is keenly aware of their gazes on her, their judgment. " you speak of destiny . . . that is normally my father's language. prophecies and stories, the fate of the realm itself . . . he is a very good storyteller, as i am sure you are aware. "

rhaegar used to tell his daughter all sorts of little stories. he used to cradle her in his arms and read to her from countless books, kissing the top of her head, and promising her the world. the world came crumbling down the day he abandoned his wife and children to drag poor lyanna stark into the chaos; forcing a prophecy onto her, bringing forth his beloved visenya. rhaenys reaps some measure of satisfaction in knowing his visenya had been a son. even in death, the first wielder of dark sister forever keeps cursed her name and lineage. and she certainly has cursed rhaegar, who burned the realm into a civil war for the third head of his dragon. rhaenys' eyes lower to the kneeling lyanna, pain rekindling inside of her. rhaenys does not hate her, of course. far from it, rhaenys respects lyanna, admires her, even. but her heart aches . . . for both of them. " what destiny do you speak of, lady lyanna ? ? ? "

@inspireswar