for : everyone
time : early night
event : feast & ball
Since arriving in Westeros, the only thing on Rhaego Targaryen's mind was that he needed to get to his mother. He needed to reunite with his mother. But it seemed that it would take a dogs age, travelling from where his Khalasar had landed in Dragonstone all the way to King's Landing after being told that the Mother and her Dragon's had been summoned 'home' by the King, Viserys Targaryen. When he had heard that his family had once more been sat upon the throne that they'd so desperately wanted before his birth, he knew that his duty in life, what the Lord of Light had granted him the second chance for, was to prevent his Uncle from being the one sitting on the throne, but making it his Mother who ruled The Seven Kingdoms.
He had only been alive for a short time, not even a handful of years, and yet the boy knew what needed to be done. He knew his prophecy, knew where he needed to be. It had taken much longer than he had planned, and in the process, he had gained a lot of blood on his hands : he remembered all the villages he burned to the ground, the people trampled beneath his stallions hooves, the death that followed wherever Khal Rheago went.
It had been hard at first, for the Khal's to even accept who the Red Priestess told them he was. Khal Drogo's son had died, they claimed. The baby who was supposed to be the Stallion Who Mounts The World had been born nothing but a twisted monster of dragon scales, wings, and with a tail. Hideous, they had told him. He had been born a hideous, blind monster. Stillborn, but yet here he was as much his father as he was his mother : tall, broad with tan skin and lilac eyes. Where else would the features descend from? Lilac eyes were a sign of the blood of old Valyria, proof that he was not just any man. Some were skeptical, many felt threatened, and few believed. So he had to show them, had to prove himself to be Rhaego, the Unburnt, the Stallion Who Mounts The World. He burned every Khal and Crone alive and emerged uninjured, bare before the horde of Khalasar's, following directly in his mother's footsteps.
He regretted not being able to save the kind woman who had taken it upon herself to save him, but knows there was no way of getting her out of the burning building without letting any of the Khals escape - that was something he could not have. The voices told him as much, whispered in the back of his mind that if any of them escaped, he would have no Khalasar, no army, to present to his mother as a gift to win her heart.
He had not expected to show up in the middle of whatever events were happening, later discovering it to be his Uncle's coronation celebrations. The thought made his blood burn, boiling in his veins at the idea that he had only been a day shy of perhaps putting a stop to his Uncle on the Throne, replacing him with his Mother would now be a difficult task, he knew enough about the Westerosi traditions and customs to know that he could not simply challenge the King as Khals did. It was not that simple, more politics had to come into play. Things that the boy barely understood, and only knew of thanks to the Red Priestess teaching him all about it before she had tried to reunite him with his mother.
He had not wanted to separate from her, originally. But he understood that this had to be hard for her and that she likely needed some space. He himself needed the space, overwhelmed with the fact he had met his mother, it had finally come to be. Something he had spent what was literally his whole life to do finally came to light, it was scary. He had no idea what to do from there but prayed the Lord of Light would soon show him away. Knew that King's Landing was going to press every button that he possessed, knew that it would take every ounce of strength his Mother and Father had passed to him not to simply slaughter his Uncle where he sat on that damned throne, and then place his mother upon it.
But his siblings were calling for him. Rhaego had heard them ever since he had left them after his initial meeting them, heard the flap of their wings and the beat of their hearts echoing through his bones, heard their calls and their cries. Knew they wanted to see him just as much as he wanted to see them : how he had waited so long to cast his eyes upon his siblings. He had daydreamed about what his siblings would look like since he had heard of their existence, had pictured Drogon since he found the midnight black shell, speckled with scarlet ripples.
So outside he ventured, abandoning the celebrations, not caring if it came off as disrespectful to his Uncle, the Targaryen seemed to be unable to communicate with the Dragons like his mother, like himself. He could slaughter him in seconds if the self-proclaimed King thought it wise to get in his face.
Lilac eyes glide up into the darkening sky above him, reflecting on the bright irises like the sea. Above him, three dragon's floated about the sky, shrieking and squawking at each other, their noises resonating within his bones. How he ached to be on the back of one. He had a love for horses, he would naturally with the Dothraki blood running thick in his veins, and while he loved his Stallion... What would be a stronger mount than a Dragon? The villages he could burn, the people he could slaughter, with that power...
But he was not his Grandfather, and he would not climb atop his sibling and make them slaughter innocent people... No, not on this day. Not in the next. So he stared, stared at the majestic beasts above him, and tuned out anyone who decided it wise to come near the supposed to be dead Prince.
