This is hands down the dumbest fandom i have ever encountered, they will see a media criticising birth and circumstance affecting people's right to live essentially and still go with the side of blood purity and slut shaming, because that is what a bastard is, a shame for woman who had been "loose" and had a kid out of wedlock or with a man she wasn't married to. Who even thinks like this:
"Bastards cannot be legally trueborn, unless by official royal decree of the King himself, and tricking the realm into thinking your children are trueborn when you have never publically declared them as bastards, so they can inherit over their non bastard relatives, is treason."
I think the funniest part will always be this: "and tricking the realm into thinking your children are trueborn when you have never publically"
So you're saying......they have to be first declared bastards...so they were true born before? You're basically agreeing they are, for all intents and purposes, true born just you want them to have the mark of bastardy? Because if kid is a bastard then he would be born without the father's name? And how is it treason when king agrees they're legitimate?
Which is exactly what velaryon boys aren't? They are born inside a marraige and the father doesn't reject them, and the king accepts them as his children? So they are fulfilling your dumb rules too? What exactly is the issue here?
And also before this the argument even contained "bastard shouldn't be looked down on" when the term bastard is created specifically to look down on those children? Why they have a label? This is the dimmest set of people i have ever encountered
Wanna gauge some interest for A series of Interviews installments. I've been thinking about the different kinds of media and in what ways they contribute to fame and social conscious. What kind of media do you like to consume and would you like to see in ASOI. think about the early 2000s celebrity drama. What do you think would be most interesting to see Ahsoka put through. Feel free to elaborate in the notes.
Single fic installments in ASOI
Podcast
news paper articles
short clips from the front lines
in person interview
red carpet/ event interview
political summit from outside pov
conspiracy theory spacetube essay
press leak "interviews from verified sources"
paparazzi ambush
leaked footage
interviews from opponents and critics
paparazzi ambushing someone other than Ahsoka (elaborate)
Voting ended onMar 2, 2025
The poll format makes this more convenient to interact with but feel free to choose multiple options and let me know what you guys are interested in under this post.
After the death of his wife, Tywin Lannister knew he would never remarry. However, when the relationships between Targaryens & Lannisters are put into question, marriage seems to be the only choice left. To his surprise, it is himself that will get married to none other than the King’s younger sister.
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Pairing: Fem!OC x Tywin Lannister
Chapter Warnings: Mention of Dismemberment, torture and blood.
Previous - Chapter 18: Where Madness Truly Started, part 1
Next - Chapter 20: The Aftermath of Duskendale
Chapter 19: Where Madness Truly Started, part 2
King’s Landing, CrownLands – 5 months since Aerys’ abduction.
The trip to Duskendale was merely 6 days away from King’s Landing, the looming castle placed close to the coast of Blackwater Bay at the North’s East. The trip had been easy and quick, and a large number of combined forces followed the mighty Lion and the Crown Prince.
However, despite the impending danger and the incoming fury of the Seven Kingdoms, Lord Darklyn did not surrender. Instead, he threatened the life of the King if Tywin dared to attack the city, something that he could easily do, especially with the barrels of wildfire he had in his possession.
Due to the bad nature between him and Aerys, Tywin would easily let the King die and simply crown his son in his place. The Young Prince had been a model soldier, listening to everything Tywin told him, asking questions, and not once going against him or disrespecting him.
Yet, the Lord Hand knew he could not do it, not so easily. Rumours would spread, and many soldiers might even back down if they were ordered to attack, making him look as if he didn’t care for the wellbeing of the King.
So, Tywin chose the second best approach and sieged the port town. He made sure to cut any incoming or outcoming communication, trade and provisions. Since the castle was not big and its coffers had been rather dry; he knew Duskendale would not last that long.
So, the months passed, and the army remained there while King Aerys was held prisoner in some gloomy cells beneath the castle. Lord Darklyn did not surrender, but he knew he could not execute his only leverage, which was the only thing keeping him alive so far.
Tywin had been in constant contact with Visenya, who had her troubles at court. With the absence of the King and her temporary ascension to the throne, setbacks had risen. A woman had never truly sat for long on the Iron Throne, especially in recent history.
Yet, the mighty Dragoness handled everything as if she was born, knowing how to do it. She ruled properly, kept the Lords and Allies occupied, and had enough information to keep them engaged but never too much to expose the true situation.
She continued with the trade, which had increased since Duskendale was under siege and had meetings with the small Council every day. Thankfully, her cousin Ser Steffon was an official member of the court thanks to Aerys, and he was helping her wherever he could.
Communication was frequent, and the two exchanged opinions on how to proceed. In the last letter, Tywin said he had openly admitted to planning to use Wildfire and burn the walls.
Then, simply allow the soldiers to sack the town and try to save the king as well. If they would fail, he knew of the fate of Aerys, but there was no true guilt behind his words.
Visenya did not blame him because she had similar thoughts for quite some time now. One might even consider all of that as a sign from the 7 that Aerys had to go and this was the best way to have a different person in a position of such power.
Yet, the Dragon Princess refused to give up so easily. She wanted to make sure all the other alternatives had been thought thoroughly before they would go for a front attack. The idea came to her when during the early hours of the night, she happened to stare out of her window.
━─━────༺༻────━─━
She spotted a servant leaving the Red Keep after finishing work, covering themselves with rags and dark clothing. If one would look like a poor peasant, it was easier to roam the roads of King’s Landing without problems or fear of being mugged.
Then, an idea seemed to be sparked in her mind and she quickly returned to her desk and started to write her letter to Tywin. Her plan was simply, perhaps sounding impossible but it was one last worthy try.
A well-trained and capable soldier infiltrates under the cover of the night dressed in common folk clothing and liberates the King. Yet, as she wrote that letter, she had to stop and think of who was truly capable and worthy of trust to do such a risky mission in the name of the King who had fallen off the people’s favour over the years.
In the end, she suggested the only man she could truly trust with that task; Ser Barristan Selmy. After writing her idea, she sealed the letter with the royal stamp of the Targaryen Dragon and sent it with a Raven.
Perhaps she should have discussed the idea better but time was of the essence for them. If she could free Aerys without risking his life during a siege, people would sing praises to such miracles; while in the end, it was all just logical and simple thinking.
━─━────༺༻────━─━
Duskendale – CrownLands – 6.5 months since Aerys’ capture
Tywin stood on top of his black stallion, watching from a safe distance the port town of Duskendale. For a moment, he felt as if he was back in Castamere, looking down upon it before he would execute his plan.
Well, their plan for Visenya’s insight and wildfire were key to this operation.
When he had first received her letter, it had taken him a moment longer to process everything. He shouldn’t be surprised since that plan came from Visenya, but he could not fight it. In the end, however, trusting her judgement, he decided to enact her plan.
He summoned Ser Barristan and gave him a full day to execute the plan. If he failed or did not return by the arranged time, Tywin would storm the town and bring it to its knees.
Many might have thought the noble knight would fail, but to their surprise, just before the 24 hours could be closed, Ser Barristan returned with a wounded but alive King.
With the leverage gone, Tywin was no longer held back, and by the words of Visenya and the royal seal on the scroll he had given her before leaving, he had full power to exact her revenge upon them.
So he did...
The barrels of wildfire were positioned close to the walls, and once ignited, they lit up the area. Green fires started to devour everything they could find, houses and shops included. Townspeople and innocents rushed to avoid the ravaging flames, only to be grouped and cornered by Lannister and Targaryen men alike.
Without its walls, the city was theirs for the take.
The remaining wildfire was used to bring down the castle where the cowardice Lord Darklyn was trying to hide. Seeing the massive destruction and the impending doom, he also tries to escape, but Tywin will not let him.
Ultimately, Darklyn and his immediate family, including his uncles, aunts, distant kinsmen and even his goodkin, House Hollard, were all gathered in the main square. By now, the green flames that devoured most of the city were slowly dying out since there was little material left for it to burn through.
Tywin had a plan for those traitors who begged for his forgiveness after all they had done. However, soon, it was not Tywin they were begging for mercy but Aerys. The King had pushed away the men supposed to guard him, including the Maester, who was checking up on him.
Dirty by mud, skinnier than before but twice as mad, he marched towards Tywin and Ser Barristan. His violet eyes burnt with blind revenge, and he pointed a finger at the grovelling Lord Darklyn.
For the first time since he had been crowned King, Aerys showed everyone how twisted his mind was. He asked for the man behind everything to be beheaded while the rest of his family burnt alive.
Serala, the foreign wife of the Lord of Duskendale, paid the heaviest price. Aerys had her tongue and female genitals pulled out with a dagger before burning her alive. The people were burning, screaming out of pain as the smell of burning flesh started to cover the area like an impending invisible cloud.
All that time, Aerys did not turn around or blink as his victims burnt. He smirked wickedly as new pleasures, both carnal and mental, started to take over his mind at the sight of burning people, their screams and pleas sounding like the best harp music ever produced.
The only survivor of the massacre that day was young Dontos Hollard, who was only spared after Ser Barristan intervened. Considering he had just saved him, Aerys could not deny him any request, and thus, the boy remained the sole survivor.
Once it was all done, Aerys stumbled but remained standing; his body was weak, but his mind was still asking for more blood and revenge. His eyes fell on the remnants of the mysterious green flames that were still burning around them.
He asked soldiers and even Ser Barristan, but no one knew the name or where it came from. Eventually, Aerys managed to ask Tywin, but the Hand of the King only got one reply from him.
“Worry not about it, your grace. You should focus on healing and returning to your rightful duties.”
Those words had left Aerys with growing suspicions, violet eyes glaring at the retreating proud form of Tywin, whose soldiers congratulated or stepped aside for him to pass. Aerys might have had the crown upon his head, but he was not the ruler.
━─━────༺༻────━─━
King’s Landing, CrownLands – 10 days since the destruction of Duskendale
The arrival back to King’s Landing was a festive one, with many common folk and even nobles having gathered to see the return of the King. Aerys had been washed and given proper clothing to wear.
He was weak but being fed on the road had helped him regain some of his strength. The Targaryen ruler arrived with everyone at the Red Keep, where Visenya, Rhaella and the Small Council were waiting for them.
Aerys had been informed that Rhaegar had been sent with Tywin to free him, leaving Visenya to rule in their place. At first, he thought it was a joke but once it was confirmed, he saw red flashing in his vision.
He stood on top of his horse as his proud sister walked towards them. She carried herself with an air of elegance, clearly proud of what she was doing all those months while he was imprisoned.
She greeted Rhaegar with a small smile and a small nod of her head with Tywin while Rhaella moved straight to her husband. However, even seeing her did not seem to help with Aerys’ mood or his growing paranoia.
━─━────༺༻────━─━
The very same night, Visenya had received a formal invite from Tywin to have supper with him in his solar. When she entered the room, she was surprised to find him only with two plates of food on the table; no sign of his family.
“I was not aware this was a private supper,” she commented with a small smile, feeling slightly adventurous and went as far as to joke slightly.
“I do believe a private supper is more fitting tonight. A small cause of celebration for our victory over Duskendale,” he explained and pulled a chair for her to sit on.
She smiled at his gesture and sat on the pulled chair, before allowing him to push it gently closer to the table. She could almost feel his breath close to her ear for a moment but she focused on the filled wine goblet in front of her to keep her composure.
Tywin sat by her left at the head of the table. Both started to eat in silence, which they were used to and comfortable with, but only a few bites later did Visenya choose to speak.
“I heard of what happened in Duskendale. Wisdom was ecstatic to hear of the Wildfire’s latest victims. People are already talking; they call it the Fires of Duskendale, and once again, you are behind it,” she informed him, taking a sip of her wine.
This seemed to draw his attention as he lifted a single eyebrow. “Is that so? I am the one given all the credit?” he asked, clearly referring to something else.
Visenya smirked and held herself from rolling her eyes. “If you are asking if I mind, then I am afraid you do not know me well enough,” she said, lowering her goblet as she turned her head more to face him better. “I do not care for titles or songs, Tywin. My concern is the realm and to defend my family. Lord Darklyn and everyone else at Duskendale saw first-hand what happened, and it will be a reminder for many. You being credited for it is not my primary concern.”
There was this look that Tywin gave her, one that he rarely gave to someone, especially one outside of his family. Yet, the Dragon Princess seemed to be gifted by seeing it more than once, although she still did not know what it truly meant.
Her words had amused him but also seemed to intrigue him. A lot of women craved power and recognition, but not her; she craved none. Her priority was her family and the realm, mostly due to the fact that her family would not survive if the realm was on the brink of war.
It was so unique in a woman and yet seemed to be paired so well with her intelligence, for only someone with her mind would be able to see how trivial personal recognition was, especially for a woman in a society where her gender was considered inferior.
Yet, a part of him did not truly like how calm she was with being ignored once again. She was one of a kind woman, with intelligence and witts. She made plans, created wildfire and she was the reason the King was safely back in his chambers.
The soldiers knew she had played a part in all of this but not the rest of the world. In their eyes, she was a naive unmarried woman, and they loved to gossip about her. In reality, Tywin felt that Visenya should be respected for what she possessed, feared, and admired.
Clearing his throat with some wine, Tywin continued the discussion but let it take a different turn on the subject. “They will remember, worry not. The lands and incomes of Duskendale will be granted to House Rykker, while the lands of House Hollard will be taken away while their villages have already been burnt and the castle is barely standing after the Wildfire attack.”
She hummed in response and took a moment to swallow. “That is good. Such change of power will ensure the alliance of House Rykker to the Crown and reduce the chances of any further defiance from them.”
Tywin agreed with a nod of his head. “Speaking of the crown, I learnt you had trouble ruling in my absence,” he brought up as he leaned to one side of his chair, looking at her with interest; curious to see what she would say.
The topic seemed to leave a bitter taste in her mouth, and she tried to wash it away with the sweet red wine. “I did, but I handled them all the same. Gender should not matter when it comes to the Iron Throne, and I made it clear over the past 6 months,” she started, lowering her goblet slowly to the table. “However, it is clear now that Westeros is not ready for a female ruler; not yet, at least,” she confessed, once again turning to face him.
She looked deep into his green eyes, admiring the specks of gold but wishing she could see his thoughts, get a glimpse of them at least. He was so well composed, such a closed book, and she sometimes had trouble speculating his thoughts.
Eventually, he looked faintly forward again. “A lot of people are close-minded; they have been for years now since your ancestors sat on the Iron Throne. They are foolish to deny a woman as their Queen when the same woman easily rules them from the shadows.”
His words seemed to bring a small smile upon her pink lips, and she felt a self of reassurance she was not sure she needed but she gladly accepted. She lifted her goblet for a toast and turned to face him. “A Queen hidden in the Shadows of an ignorant King allied with those truly in power”, she corrected him.
His smirk was evident, his eyes glowing with pride, and there was no sign of disagreement on his face. Instead, he lifted his goblet and let the two objects clang against one another to a silent toast to them...the Shadow King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.
A/N: Honestly I meant to put this out way earlier but i forgot! We are almost done with season one! This chapter features an unlikely duo.
TW: Blood, violence,slight gore
The night sky swirled into obscurity as Rhaella lay naked in the grass. The trees towering overhead shielded her from the soft beams of moonlight.
It was another dream. An occurrence she had grown used to. The unanswered questions had become common, leaving her frustrated and unsatisfied.
There was a certain freedom, being confined to her mind this way. Rhaella stood to her feet, leisurely walking through the forest.
“Follow my voice.” The sound hissed, passing her by.
Like many times before, she had no choice but to follow.
Rhaella found herself at the edge of a cliff, staring the water down. She wondered if she jumped at this very moment, would she wake?
“You wake when I allow it.” The voice whispered again.
Rhaella sat herself, legs dangling off the edge. She could feel its presence. Whatever it was. Despite this fact, she did not feel ashamed of her nakedness.
“Quite presumptuous of you, placing commands onto me,” Rhaella said.
It was a back-and-forth they had engaged in. It would shrill riddles and prophecies that Rhaella couldn’t even pretend to understand.
“Tell me something,” Rhaella said. Her voice was distant, she already knew what the outcome would be.
“You have invaded my thoughts, for reasons unknown to me,” Rhaella said, bringing her knees to her chest.
“Tell me, have I gone mad?”
The voice gave a low chuckle. Rhaella could feel its misty aura pass over her body, oddly enough she found it comforting.
“Perhaps.” The voice said in wicked irony.
“It may be that you were born this way.” It said.
Rhaella rolled her eyes at Its musings. She had become accustomed to it.
“You’ve given that boy a portion of your soul.” It buzzed. Maybe it was her mind turning against her, but the voice had switched to a lighter tone.
Rhaella scoffed. Even in her unconscious, she could not escape the stigma.
“What now?” She asked. Her fingers raked through the strands of her hair at the memory of Aemond. He hadn’t held back, the repressed lust had spread like a sickness, infecting them both.
Rhaella smiled. “I suppose you think I'm a whore.”
The voice gave a hum of contemplation.
“Love is the mind-killer.” It said.
Love? Is this how it is to be? Filled with the musings of some spirit or other as she continued to fall deeper into her desire?
It was equal parts unpleasant and enthralling.
“I need not your opinion, I don’t even know what you are. Rhaella responded.
Then she felt it. Disembodied arms wrapped around, engulfing her. They had no particular feeling.
“Oh Rhaella, but I know what you are.” It whispered into her ear.
Rhaella’s head tilted, curiosity peaked. This conversation felt familiar, but the meaning was compromised.
“What am I?” She said.
“Mine.”
It must’ve been well into noon when Rhaella awoke.
Heaps of her curls surrounded her face as she sat up in bed. Her whole body ached, causing her to wince.
Why hadn’t any of the maids come? Typically they made a big show of opening the blinds and preparing her clothes.
No matter, there was a more pressing issue at hand. Rhaella pulled the white sheet from her body to reveal the crimson red that permeated through.
Proof of what she had done. What they had done.
Rhaella’s eyes darted across the room for a moment. A hiding place. She landed on the wardrobe. Someone would find the sheets eventually, but not after she was long gone.
Her feet found purchase on the cold tile. It wasn’t even for a full second before her knees buckled, stumbling to the floor.
It was as if her body was screaming for her to feel shame.
Balling up the linens, she shoved them inside the deepest parts of the wardrobe.
It had been some time and handmaidens had not yet entered. Deciding to dress herself, Rhaella slipped on the dress Helaena had given her. The gorgeous purple silks hid the slightly reddened bruises around her thighs and waist.
Then there was the issue with her hair. Curses were let loose and Rhaella struggled against the tangles.
The end result was somewhat presentable. Rhaella had wished her hair was loced like Rhaena or her grandfather.
Rhaella’s stomach rumbled in protest. She would make it a point to visit the kitchens first.
Her hand slid over the door’s handle. The knob would not budge, despite Rhaella’s efforts.
She tried again. Then once more, followed by several futile attempts thereafter.
Confusion etched itself onto her brow. There wasn’t a possibility that she locked herself in.
Perhaps one of the guards made a mistake.
Rhaella raised her fists, pounding on the wooden door.
“Hello?” She called out. “Is anyone there?”
Her fists continued to beat the door, leaving nothing but echoes.
Rhaella reluctantly took her hands away from the door. She couldn’t place it,but something wasn’t right.
Pressing her ear against the door, she listened in for...anything at this rate.
Silence. There were no footsteps or voices to be heard.
Something was entirely wrong. Rhaella tried to recall the night before, nothing odd had stood out.
She remembered the way Ser Criston Cole was short with her, but she figured it was due to her disrespect of the queen during the past week.
Her grandmother. Rhaella had walked through the main halls before entering her own room and had not seen her.
Rhaella’s breath quickened. Was there something she had missed? Her mind raced with all the possibilities of what could be going wrong at this moment.
Rhaella paced back and forth in the room, arms crossed anxiously.
The king was most likely dead, that could be the reason for the silence.
But would she not have been informed? And why the locked door?
Rhaella walked over to the window in the room, the view was nothing but cobbled streets. It was quite a ways down, she’d surely break her legs should she try to escape.
The creak of the old door interrupted Rhaella’s contemplation.
But it was not a maid she was met with.
It was Ser Otto Hightower.
Rhaella was surprised to see him of all people. However, she maintained a level of composure so as to not reveal her worry.
Slow and steady.
“Ser Otto?” Rhaella said. “What has happened?”
Otto walked further into the room, Rhaella's eyes darted to the slightly ajar door.
If she was quick about it, escape was a possibility. But then there were guards to worry about.
That was of no consequence though, Otto shut the door behind him.
“Lady Rhaella.” Otto greeted. He carried an air of pleasantry.
As if he’d won something.
“What is the matter?” Rhaella asked. She attempted to conceal the anxiety in her voice.
Otto paused for a moment. He watched Rhaella’s unwavering posture.
He was not fooled, unfortunately for her.
“There has been... an unprecedented event,” Otto said.
“The king has passed, hasn’t he?” Rhaella said sharply, leaving no room for questioning.
Otto folded his hands in front of him, nodding.
“It is unfortunate, but yes his grace has passed.”
Rhaella’s mind raced, unable to focus on one single thought.
Ser Otto was not here simply to inform. No, there must be more.
So she would rip it from him, slowly.
“I never had the privilege of truly knowing him,” Rhaella said, her head bowing slightly.
“However.” Rhaella continued. “The king was my uncle, I do not see why I needed to be locked in my chambers.”
Otto sighed. “ We had much to prepare.”
Rhaella’s eyes squinted at the word. Prepare?
“Ser Otto,” Rhaella said. Her voice had turned cold, void of emotion.
“You did not come here to inform me of the king,” Rhaella stated.
Ser Otto attempted to speak but was cut off. Rhaella was far from done.
“Choose your next words carefully ser, as I have been confined to this room for some time,” Rhaella said.
Otto’s mouth lifted into a slight smirk. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bell.
Rhaella’s sharp eyes tracked his movement as he placed it on the table.
“It’s a curious trick you do,” Otto spoke.
“One moment, you are a quiet girl.” Otto’s head tilted slightly in analysis.
“But then, you open your mouth and suddenly it’s your father I see.”
Her father? Were her words not her own?
“What is this?” Rhaella blurted out. She had grown tired of it all.
“You are being presented with a choice.” Otto gestured to the bell.
“Choice?” Rhaella asked.
“The king’s dying wish was that Prince Aegon should succeed him,” Otto said.
Rhaella took a step back, in pure disbelief. Aegon and succession should not be spoken in the same sentence. For many a reason.
“Do you think me an idiot?” Rhaella snapped.
“No, you have always been much more perceptive than others.” Ser Otto said.
“The king declared Princess Rhaenyra his heir, she is to be queen,” Rhaella said.
“He spoke his will unto the queen Alicent in his last breath,” Otto said.
Rhaella’s words fell stuck in her throat.
What sort of fuckery is taking place here? And why is she in it?
“It is of no consequence what you think,” Otto said.
It never was.
“Bend the knee to Aegon, the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms,” Otto stated. His tone had shifted to conviction.
She would do no such thing.
Instead, Rhaella gave a lofty smile.
“I am my father’s daughter, am I?” She said.
“You know full well what my answer is.”
Ser Otto nodded his head, expectantly.
“You will remain here until you’ve changed your mind.”
Rhaella could feel her composure ripping at the seams.
“Ring the bell when you have decided.” Ser Otto said.
With his words lingering in the air, Otto turned to leave.
“Wait!” Rhaella said.
Otto paused to face her.
“What of my grandmother?” Rhaella asked.
Ser Otto smiled. “ Both you and her will remain here for the time being.”
Otto closed the door behind him.
Rhaella swiftly walked toward the table, where the bell was placed.
It gleamed from the sun’s rays, almost mockingly.
In a fit of frustration, Rhaella hurled the bell at the closed door.
Fuck that stupid bell.
She was stuck here. Indefinitly it seemed.
There was no escape for her and no help would be coming.
Through the fog of her panic, Rhaella had another thought.
Had Aemond known? He couldn’t possibly stand for this.
Rhaella knew Aemond had no love for Rhaenyra, but he could certainly agree that Aegon was not suited for the throne.
She required clarity. She required him.
.......
In the long hours that followed, Rhaella could sense her sanity slipping from her being. She had been staring up at the high ceiling for what seemed like forever.
She played out multiple scenarios of what would happen to her. Rhaella was sure she would not be touched, nor would her grandmother.
Rather, they would have her rot to death.
A knock at the door cut through her musings.
Whoever had come was not her saving grace.
“Rhaella?” Queen Alicent called softly.
Standing up from the bed, Rhaella stared at Alicent wordlessly.
Alicent tried to offer a smile but was met with a blank stare from Rhaella’s violet eyes.
“I understand you may be confused at the moment,” Alicent said.
Confused? A plummeting understatement.
“What have you done?” Rhaella said.
“I am acting on the former kings’ command,” Alicent said.
“So, it appears you are not only a liar, but an usperer as well.” Rhaella snided.
Alicent grimaced at Rhaella’s words. She came close, grabbing her hands.
“It is better to not disrupt the realm, I only can guide it to peace,” Alicent said.
Rhaella jerked her hands away from Alicent in disgust.
“You guide the realm to war,” Rhaella said angrily.
It was preposterous that the queen thought that Princess Rhaenyra would accept this.
“I am doing what is best for the realm.” Queen Alicent responded. Her voice wavered slightly, her judgment was toothless.
“Ser Otto has informed me of your terms,” Rhaella said, eyes darting from the queen and back to the door.
Queen Alicent toyed with her hands, carefully considering her words.
“ I have come to offer you new ones,” Alicent said after a while.
Rhaella’s eyebrows furrowed. There was nothing more to be said. She would not bend the knee.
“I know that you care deeply for Aemond,” Alicent said.
Rhaella felt herself turn cold, although she was hardly surprised. The queen had been dangling her own emotions over her head like a guillotine.
“ You could marry him, and spend the rest of your days here in the Red Keep.”
Rhaella did not honor the queen with an answer. She feared the next words uttered would be curses.
“I’ve known you to always be disregarded to the side.” Alicent continued.
“Your own father ignores you in favor of the princess, you are a stranger in your own home.”
Rhaella couldn’t deny that the observation stung. It only reaffirmed her own thoughts.
The queen need not know that, however.
“My son is most happy at your side, the both of you would be a fitting match.”
A thought occurred to Rhaella. She had been a fool, and not for the first time.
“So why not send him to speak to me?” Rhaella asked. Her mind was clear now.
“I came here on his behalf.” Alicent insisted.
Quite an earnest liar she was.
“Does he even know I’m being held here?” Rhaella questioned.
The queen’s silence was deafening. There was her answer.
Rhaella stepped closer to Alicent, eye to eye. The queen held her ground but the slight shrink back did not escape Rhaella’s predatory gaze.
“You seem confused your grace,” Rhaella said, her voice, menacing.
“No amount of care I have for your son would make me turn against my own family,” Rhaella said.
Alicent’s eyes widened. This was not the small girl she had kept under watch all that time ago.
No. Rhaella Targaryen was a beast, evolving before the queen’s very eyes.
“So, run to your sept and kneel to your Gods,” Rhaella said.
“Pray that my family does not answer you with fire and blood.”
The Queen Alicent’s mouth was agape. Her eyes searched Rhaella’s, hoping for a hint of feebleness.
There was none—only the swirling of something dark.
“Very well,” Alicent said. And just like her father, she too left the chamber, shutting and locking the doors behind her.
Alone again, once more. All those threats she threw and what came of it?
Rhaella dropped to the ground, eyes rimmed with tears. It mattered not if Aemond knew of her confinement.
He blindsighted her. All the speak of desiring something bigger than himself was clearer than ever to her.
There would be no exploring the seven kingdoms on dragon back together. No more stolen glances or lingering touches.
Aemond did not simply desire a dragon. He craved revenge, undeniable power.
This was the man she had given herself to. Rhaella was unsure what horrified her more. The fact that she could see his reasoning or the fact that her heart still longed to speak with him.
Love was indeed the mind-killer.
The day turned to evening as Rhaella remained confined to the room. She had food nor water at her disposal and it was beginning to take effect.
She needed to escape. Somehow.
Rhaella ripped through the little belongings she had brought with her, looking for something that might assist her.
An object near the bed caught her eye. Dropping to her hands and knees, she went to retrieve it.
A sturdy stick no larger than an ordinary dagger. Rhaella fiddled with it methodically.
Rhaella dragged the stick back and forth against the whetted edge of the bed.
Distress morphed into persistence as she continued. The wood soon peeled back, forming a point comparable to that of a knife.
It must suffice.
“The next person,” Rhaella mumbled to herself. She sat at the side of the door, in animalistic hyperfocus.
Whoever dared come through the door next would become a corpse.
Rhaella had never killed before, not even a bug. However, she could feel that same misty aura, the one from her dreams. It was guiding her, encouraging her to fight.
Pressing against the side wall, Rhaella listened for anything.
Her efforts were not in vain. Padded footsteps could be heard outside the door.
She would aim for the chest.
Slowly, the door opened as a figure stepped inside.
Briskly, Rhaella tackled the body to the floor, shank raised in hand.
It was Talya, the queen’s handmaid.
“Please, wait I’m here to help!” Talya squealed.
Rhaella hesitated, contemplating. Talya had grown to be a great annoyance to her, always around every corner.
But to take her life? All the dark courage Rhaella had summoned quickly fizzled out.
She, who had no dragon, no tangible aspirations. Could she really take a life?
Rhaella drew her weapon to the side, keeping Talya’s body on the ground.
“Explain quickly, lest I change my mind,” Rhaella said.
Talya, in a panic, fumbled her words before straining out something coherent.
“I am here on behalf of Astris and the white worm,” Talya said, panicked eyes shifting to the wooden dagger.
“Astris?” Rhaella said, eyes blinking in perplexion.
When she had left Pentos for Dragonstone, the lord offered her a handmaid as a parting gift.
Rhaella was sure it was just to please her father, however, when she caught the gaze of the black-haired beauty in front of her, everything fell silent.
Astris. A girl who had a strangeness equal to Rhaella herself. The two girls grew much and more fond of one another. It was when Astris was brushing Rhaella’s silver curls, they shared a kiss.
That had been many moons ago, as Astris was moved elsewhere.
For Talya to possess such knowledge of her, she must have been telling the truth.
“How do you know her?” Rhaella demanded. Her expression remained guarded.
“We are both spies for the White Worm, it was she who sent me to help you,” Talya explained.
Spy? White Worm? Rhaella reeled over the new information. She studied the frightened yet earnest expression on Talya’s face.
It was not as if Rhaella held many options in her grasp.
Rhaella carefully removed herself from Talya, allowing the maid to stand.
“Quickly, we do not have much time,” Talya said urgently. She walked to the wardrobe, pulling out a brown cloak.
Rhaella reluctantly accepted, pulling the hood over her head.
“My grandmother is still locked in her room, we must help her,” Rhaella said.
Talya grabbed Rhaella’s arm in assurance.
“She has already found help, Ser Arryk Cargyll is aiding her escape,” Talya said.
The two of them quietly stepped into the halls. Talya’s swift pace was one Rhaella followed suit. Although there was an endless stream of questions she wanted to ask, only one sentence left her.
“I’ll kill you if I find that you are lying,” Rhaella stated.
Talya paused for a moment, looking at Rhaella with an annoyed expression.
“I’m here risking my neck for you, why on earth would I lie?” Talya scoffed.
She had a point. It’s not as if they had ever been friendly, nor had Rhaella paid her any mind.
They arrived at Maegor’s holdfast, doing well to remain vigilant of others.
Talya opened a door, gesturing for Rhaella to follow. The tunnels underground were mostly dark, save for the mounted torches on the walls.
The way Talya strode cautiously yet confidently through the tunnels indicated to Rhaella that she had done this many many times before.
“I suppose it makes sense that you’re a spy, you’re always mousing around me,” Rhaella whispered.
Talya’s cheeks slightly flushed in embarrassment, the dark concealing the fact.
“You can be quite flippant I see” Talya hissed back. Rhaella simply shrugged.
“It’s not hard to wonder why the prince enjoys your company.”
Rhaella rolled her eyes at the comment. However, her retort was cut off by a loud boom that shook the tunnel.
Talya and Rhaella paused, glancing at each other. The source of noise must’ve been coming from the Dragon Pit.
“We must keep moving,” Talya said, grabbing Rhaella’s hand tightly.
They had nearly made it to the other side when a voice bellowed out, demanding them to stop.
“You two!” A guard shouted. Rhaella and Talya froze,not daring to move.
If they ran now, he would only follow. The guard approached them, drawing his sword.
Talya stepped in front, attempting to hide Rhaella’s face.
“What business do you have down here?” He asked.
“I am on an errand, by request of her grace the queen,” Talya said calmly.
“And you?” The guard called to Rhaella.
“I am..assisting her,” Rhaella mumbled lamely. Her eyes remained downcast as they’d be an obvious giveaway.
Pushing Talya to the side, the guard grabbed Rhaella roughly, snatching the hood off of her.
“Lady Rhaella?” The guard said. Rhaella’s eyes darted to Talya, who shared her expression of fear.
“You were not to leave your quarters, by order of the queen,” He said.
‘His neck, drive your steak into it.’ A voice hissed inside of her. The familiar dark presence from her dreams had taken lodging in her day consciousness it seemed.
Flashes of her dreams, the green fire, and the dark figure polluted her mind.
And all the repressed rage, fear, and sorrow she carried manifested in that very moment. Something feral overtook her, seething and ripping inside her body.
A righteous violence took root in her.
Drawing the wooden shank, Rhaella stabbed it into the guard’s neck.
The guard was wide-eyed as he fell to the floor, blood gurgling in his throat.
Rhaella’s eyes followed him to the ground.
‘Finish it.’
Rhaella pulled the dagger from the guard’s neck, only to plunge it into his trachea.
Again.
And again.
She could not stop. She would not stop. Rhaella’s grunts turned into a cry, formed from the deepest parts of her being.
“He’s dead, stop now!” Talya pleaded. She pulled Rhaella’s blood-soaked form from the guard.
Rhaella dropped her weapon to the ground as she let out heavy gasps. A certain rush perverted her blood. She looked down at the dark stains on the purple silks.
Talya dragged Rhaella to the ends of the tunnel, light giving way. There was no attempt to justify her actions and Talya dared not ask.
Had Rhaella’s actions been her own? She was not all sure. The whisper guided her,but it was her own hand that delieverd the blow.
She truly had gone mad. And her madness was now shared.
Here is your @gotsecretsanta gift. I hope you like it!
It was not in her plan to spend three hours in the tight cab of her follow grad student’s truck. She should be on the beach, soaking up the sun. She should be walking through her family’s famed gardens, smelling the sweet flowers. But no. Instead of warmth and sun she was surrounded by dark and damp. Mostly due to the to the snowball that greeted her when stepped out of the truck.
“Oh no,” a shocked voice said, “You’re not Robb.”
“No,” Margaery said while wiping the cold snow off her, “Not even close.”
A red head with her hands drawn up to her mouth stood in front of Margaery and for moment words left her. The women was...she was tall and slender with a regal looking face and cheeks flushed from the cold. But most of all she was gorgeous and Margaery was breathless.
“Sansa,” Margaery blinked at Robb’s voice and remembered where she was. The Stark family home and the woman had to be Robb’s sister. Sansa was looking between Robb and Margaery and mouthing I’m sorry. Margaery had all but a few seconds to process everything, the snowball, the pretty red head, Robb’s disbelief before the front door of the Stark home flew open and chaos descended.
A tiny teen-aged girl launch herself at Robb and Margaery wasn’t sure if the girl meant to hug him or tackle him. Robb let out a small sound and then wrapped his arms the girl, mostly likely Arya, and squeezed. A small child ran up and grabbed hold of Robb’s legs. Robb let go of Arya and reached down to ruffle the boy’s, Margaery guessed Rickon’s, hair. Another older boy was moving his wheelchair to their growing group and flashed a blinding smile. Two men around Robb and Marg’s age stumbled behind, laughing.
And then finally the door closed as what could only be the Stark’s parent stepped out and smiled at the scene in front of them. A warmth flooded Margaery’s heart and for the first time that day she was grateful for the snowstorm that canceled her flight home. Maybe this is what Christmas should be, she thought. Sansa moved to join the mass of reunion hugs and caught Margaery’s eyes. The red head smiled softly and Margaery couldn’t help but smile back. Yes, she thought let it snow.
