@caracarnn
SHE HAD BEEN SENT WORD that an envoy would arrive soon instead of her daughter coming. She had been incredibly disappointed she would not be seeing his last surviving child again, but she understood. Daenerys was needed in Westeros, making sure her path back to the Iron Throne would be clear and ready for her. And who knew whether this woman, this stranger, claiming to be a mother long thought dead, was truly her mother? This might be yet another plot to take the life of the last of the Targaryen line. Rhaella understood. But was disappointed.
So when the young man she was told was raised within House Stark, the very same people responsible for the downfall of House Targaryen, stepped into the chambers she had taken up on, she watched him carefully through narrowed eyes. She did not trust him. Did not trust the blood that might be coursing through his veins, even though he supposedly is her grandchild. Just as her daughter was unsure she was truly the Lady Rhaella, Lady Rhaella was uncertain this man was truly of Targaryen blood. His hair was against him first. And though she could not see their color from this distance, she doubted the color of his eyes was like her family’s.
When he had been led inside by her ever loyal knights, she finally slowly rose from her seat across the room. “Snow,” she said, her voice carrying clearly across the room. “Your father was part of the destruction of my House. Give me one good reason to not have you arrested on the spot and thrown in the dungeons.” She stood up completely straight, her eyes hard as she looked at the young man. “Or executed?”