#targaryen things

[js-dragonart]

Happy Valentine's day! 💚💚

[iwishiwas-anita]

The Queen that once was, but never was again.

When the Queen died, all eyes were on her. 

She was the sister of the King, an available and honorable match, so naturally, the first option would be her. 

Should be her.

The Queen has died and with her death, she has taken a possible heir with her, a male heir. 

It doesn't matter that the king has a much older, capable daughter, that she— Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen is a capable heir to the throne. 

No, it only matters that she has a cunt, and not a cock,  it doesn't matter that their thirst, their ignorance has caused the Queen’s death, for the king to lose his beloved wife and for a child to lose its mother, no they don't care for that, they don't care for that at all. 

So when Queen Aemma takes her last breath on the birthing bed, she’s called back to King’s Landing under the guise of a funeral, but everyone knows. Everyone knows why she’s summoned and she’ll be damned if she suffers the same fate. 

She didn't allow herself to be married off to the highest bidder moons ago, she won't now.

Not even to her brother.

Read More on AO3

OR

She walked into the carriage that waited outside the dragon pit, the footman helping her inside. She stiffly sat on the cushioned seats as the carriage lurched forward and began moving. 

To others it might seem as if she was to spend time with her family, to mourn the loss of her good sister, but she was riding to war. A war between dragons, that she was sure, fire would be spewed and blood would be shed. 

She hated being back here, hated the nauseating smell of flea-bottom and the many eyes of King’s Landing. That's why she left, ran away, whatever anyone wants to call it. 

When they crossed the gates of the Red Keep, it felt as if she had entered another world. She could feel the dense atmosphere weighing her down, and the fire in her veins sparked, she needed to stand tall, chin up, back straight.  She was a Targaryen, closer to gods than men. 

The carriage stopped and the door was opened. Taking a slow breath she got up from her seat and made it out the door. She looked around, the gray sky making everything look dull, not a single ray of sunlight. It seemed that the gods had a read on everyone’s mood and graced them with the weather just like it. 

She is led inside the red keep, given a room different from her youth, and left to be at peace. She has a few moments to herself when someone is announced at the door. 

Daemon Targaryen

It's a wonder seeing him again, a grin blooms on her face. “Sister” he whispers, and it's funny how once upon a time he would have had to call her wife.

He tells her how things have been, how dear Viserys has grown weak, has allowed snakes to sink their fangs into him, and has allowed for drift to grow between the brothers. She laughs as he tells her he’s been banished from Kings Landing more times than he can count, but he always comes back. 

It's so similar to when they were young when Viserys would grow angry with him and wouldn’t speak for days.

It was simple back then, their only worries were how big their dragons would have to be for them to ride. 

She tells him of her adventures, of all the things she’s seen and done, and all he has to say to her is a wry grin and  “Coming back here, you're signing away your freedom.”

And just like that he manages to bring her to reality, The smile melts off her face and the girlish feeling in her chest shrivels up, She stiffly nods, “I’m aware of that, my dear twin.”

She gathers herself up, “I've merely just come to remind Viserys of something I thought we’d settled years ago.”

He grins at her words, hand settling on Dark sister’s handle, “Yes” he hums, “I'm quite sure I remember that.”

“Good. I’m glad it has stuck with you too brother.” she smiles

He chuckles, “Don't worry sister, I am already wedded.”

A smirk spreads across her lips, “Of course, How could I forget? And where is Lady Rhea?”

“In the Vale.”

Confusion paints her face, “Why is she not here? Surely, she’d have the decency to pay her respects to the king, no less her good Brother”

Daemon hums but gives her no answer, They settle into silence, each observing the other, until finally, she breaks it, “How is the princess?”

Daemon looks taken aback by her question, and it is to be expected after all she has only seen her niece a total of 2 times; her birth and first name day. 

“She is…. well,”  he says

“I can imagine how hard this is for her.” After all, she did lose her mother. It seems that all Targaryen women were destined for the same fate. What a tragedy.

Their reunion is cut short when he dismisses himself. She is left to wander her temporary chambers, the view from her window is of the distant hills of King Landing, away from the commotion of flea bottom. It seems that Viserys is attempting to please her.

***

The next morning she's awakened by servants, all busting about her rooms, opening curtains, preparing her bath, and getting rid of her chamber pots and such. She rises from the bed and goes to freshen up, finally stepping into the gown she had packed, a simple dark gown with a fitted bodice and sleeves, encrusted with red and obsidian gems, her handmaiden braiding her hair into a simple two braids connecting at the back.

Despite being used to wearing this type of clothing, she finds that she misses the comfortable breeches and soft linen chemise, she can practically hear the outrageous exclamations from the women of the court if she were to present herself in that way. They would truly believe she has lost her senses. 

She’s escorted through the halls of the red keep and to the council room. She expects to see lords of neighboring lands, even the Hand. But when he goes inside only the King is there waiting for her. 

The years have not been kind to Viserys, although he still looks the same there’s an exhaustion that hangs onto his frame. A sadness that reminds her of those merchants that sell on the streets, it’s pathetic seeing someone so mighty being brought down to this.

“My King.” she greets him bowing down slightly.

“Sister,” he says

She rises and finds him with his arms extended out, She walks over and into his arms, wrapping hers around him.

They pull back and stare at one another, The last time she saw his face she had a sword trained on it. 

“How have your travels fared?” he asks

She manages not to roll her eyes, she knows he doesn't care, knows that the night she left he sent out word about her disappearance that if she was ever to be found she was to be dragged back to king's landing, “They were well. You should do it sometime, Brother. Get out of the castle’s walls, see the world.”

He hums noncommittally, hands clasped together, “Yes, well... Some of us have certain duties to tend to.”

Her eye twitches at that, “Yes, I'm sure,”

“And how have your duties treated you, Hm?”

She holds her hands behind her back, a smirk building on her lips, She knows she shouldn't but she can't help it, She begins to pace around the room “Daemon tells me how you’ve been…. Exceptionally dutiful these past years. He tells me how you’ve made yourself a king who changes history and tradition”

A wry smile crosses his face, his shoulders tense, “I'm sure he has.”

“Yes, but enough about Daemon,” she comes to a stop, staring straight into his eyes, “I've returned for you, dear brother,” she presses a hand to her chest, “I offer my deep condolences, Aenma was a kind, beautiful woman and an honorable Queen.”

He nods, chin resting on his chest, Silence remains, only the crackle of the fireplace accompanying them. She knows what comes next, she has seen it enough times to know so. The regret and guilt and the victimizing that they all play, the “oh I wished I had known better”, it's all a sham. 

He sighs, “I… I loved Aenma with all my heart. I wish I could go back and stop myself from–”

He grows quiet and for the first time in forever, she sees him, Viserys, her elder brother, and not the king, not petty arguments and strategic ploys, just Viserys. 

“A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing, Sister,” he murmurs

She looks at him sideways, arms crossed against her chest.

He rushes towards her, his hands holding hers, “I am all alone in this.” he whispers

She scoffs and shakes her head, “No you’re not, You have Daemon–”

“Daemon?!” his fingers tighten, “Daemon doesn't understand what I'm trying to do, at every turn he seeks to ruin me, to ruin her.”

“I need you, Ella.”

She looks at him, his hands enveloping her fingers, she loves him, loves her family, but she can't… she can't put herself aside for his dreams, for him….

“I… I can't, Viserys”

She takes a breath, ignoring his hardening expression, “I love you, Brother, I do. I would go to war for you, I would kill a thousand men with my bare hands for you but this… this I cannot do. I'm not suited for this, I am not.”

His mouth opens but she pushes on,  “I have no taste for duty, Viserys, I don't.”

His lips grow thin, and he appraises her hands, he suddenly pulls her close, arms wrapping around her, face tucked into her neck, “Rhaella, I am asking this not as your king, But as your Brother, I beg you, to please help me in this, nothing has to be decided now, I just need your support in this, Understand?”

The scent of pine and spice surrounds her, she feels her eyes beginning to burn, and his arms tighten around her, “I know you don't…. enjoy life at court, But I promise you, nothing will happen without us discussing it first.”

“Please, Rhaella.” He breathes. 

She knew he was buttering her up, trying to get her to lower the defenses so she would say yes, and as much as she hated it, they were working. She had been away from home for so long, she had missed so much. 

She stepped out of his embrace and looked up at him. She could see in his eyes how much he wanted her to agree and honestly, that made her feel good, made her feel... on fire. 

She could almost imagine it, her; Queen of the seven kingdoms, but that position was more than influence and power, it meant heirs. She wasn't afraid of much, but the childbed terrified her, more than any creature or being could. 

She had to refuse, she had to make sure he understood that she wouldn't do this, she would burn armies and cities to the ground for him, but not this, never this.

That was the plan, that was what she wanted to say, but imagine her terror when all that fell from her lips were; “Very well.” 

And as he brought her in for an embrace, all she felt was a touch so cold, that it's a wonder she is still a Targaryen. 

***

She stayed.

She stayed in Kings Landing for a year.

She stayed with him throughout, she stood by him and supported everything he did. She stayed when Daemon raged after Rhaenyra was named heir, and she fought the lords of the kingdom when they tried to oppose his word. Her loyalty never wavered, not for one second.

They worked as one single unit, like a proper family. It felt like one, despite the looming question above her head.

She knew Viserys would talk to her first, knew that he wouldn’t do anything without talking it out with her. He swore it to her. Everyone acted as if the decision was already made as if she were already Queen.

When she walked through the halls servants bowed until she was out of sight, and her chambers were constantly filled with imported goods from all over, the finest of silks, the delicious and delicate scents of oils for her baths. Mysterious gifts would appear, mostly jewels and sometimes gowns and beautifully crafted blades from The free cities.

The worst of it all was when Rhaenyra came to her after her flight with Rhaegal, The princess and her had developed a… tentative sort of friendship, she knew why she was here, knew that she was the replacement for her mother, and like any child, she’s apprehensive about that, she knows she would have been. But that all melted away when she had approached her and told her with the most sincerity; “I wouldn’t mind it if you were my stepmother.”

She’d never had the urge to mother children, but the way Rhaenyra had looked at her when she said that made her understand why so many put up with it. 

It all seemed that she was Queen all but in name, that all Viseyrs needed to do was announce it to his court, arrangements for marriage were all that was needed, she thought that was Viserys’s plan, that he was was just waiting for the perfect moment to ask her, and when he did, she would say yes. He had shown her what life at court could be like, that her duties wouldn't take too much from her, that she could learn to enjoy them.

But then… something happened, something horrible. Rhaenyra had stormed into her quarters, tears streaming down her face, fire in her eyes, and with a snarl so akin to a dragon she said, “It was supposed to be you.”

“Why did he pick her?!”

And she knew, she just did.

At first, she cried, she didn't understand why she did, but then after some moments, when the shame and humiliation curdled in her stomach and bubbled into it all rested on her tongue, she raged.

She ran, through the halls, skirts fisted in her hands, blood rushing in her ears, Rhaenyra’s teary face flashing in her mind, She dashed past a fuming Corlys Velaryon, knowing for sure what had happened. 

He had humiliated her,

Had made a joke of her, of…. of… of her kindness, of her loyalty!

She slammed the council room doors, the echoing crack silencing whatever conversation was taking place. Her eyes roamed over every lord sitting there, until stopping at a little thing of a girl. When her eyes laid on her the girl shrank even further into herself, She shifted her gaze to the Hand, a smug smirk playing at his lips.

“Sister.”

Viserys called to her, She stepped into the room, noting how tense everyone seemed to be, and stood at the end of the table, facing Viserys head-on, his confusion clear on his face, and her blood burned.

“Nothing will happen without us discussing it first.” she declared, staring straight at him, watching as realization filled his gaze.

He rose from his chair, “Leave us.” he murmured and everyone scrambled out, everyone but the Hand, that fucking cunt.

She glared at him from her place, her fingers tingling with the urge to grab a sword and behead the man, How dare he? “He said, “leave!” she roared and reluctantly he got up, his gaze remained on her as he walked out of the room.

Rage bubbled under her skin, the fire seemed to grow inside her, burning her up inside urging her to let it out, “That's what you told me, You said, ‘Nothing will happen without us discussing it first’, isn't that right!?”

He sighed, hands pressed to the table, “I don't understand,” Exasperation paints his face, “I thought you’d be happy”

“You humiliated me!”

His shock is evident, “Humiliate you?”

“You chose some Hightower bitch instead of me, You made everyone believe it was to be me, just to pick someone else.”

He had strung her along, had made a fool out of her,  Her fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into the meat of her palms “You used my loyalty, my…. My love and when you were done you threw it back in my face.”

She could feel the fire burning at her throat, he fooled her, he made her believe that he had changed, that things would be different, 

 Tears were pricking at her eyes, so hot it seemed as if they were lava, “Why did you bring me here, Viserys? Why?”

She sighs exasperatedly, suddenly tired of it all, “Did you wish to get back at me, to punish me for what happened years ago, for defying you?”

His eyes widened,  “No!”

“I wished for us to be together, House of Targaryen united once more.”

The fool, “We were!” she roars, “I was with you every step of the way, but you chose to invite strangers into our house”

Why is he so foolish, what happened to the intelligent Viserys, the Viserys that promised to keep their house great, She rounds the table and walks over to him, a finger pointed at his chest “You said a Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing’ you made it seem as if we were lost, as if we were gone but we weren't, you separated us. You chose to make Daemon leave, you chose to kill your wife—”

A hand shoots out, cold fingers wrapping tight around her throat, Her eyes widen as she stares at him, but he makes no move to let go so she wrenches back, holding in the wince as his fingernails scratch at her throat. 

They stare at each other, his eyes widened at what he had done, “Rhaella–”

“Look at you, You let a snake sink its teeth into our house, and now we all must suffer for your foolishness. The poison is spreading, Viserys and it will kill us all.”

Her voice rings around the room, her heaving breaths trailing after it, The air smells of ash, it smells of the aftermath of a Dragon's rage. 

With one last look at her brother’s face, she turns around and leaves. 

Not just the room, but the castle entirely, the whole capital.

She pushes through the doors, feet moving quickly, bowling over servants and guards, her breath ragged but never stopping for one second, As she rounds a corner she feels herself slam onto a hard surface, She pushes herself away and her eyes meet the hazel eyes of a man not even deserving of a name. 

The Hand of the king pin shines gold as the sunlight hits it, such a thing how something representing honor and loyalty can be worn by such a farce. 

Her eyes harden and the ever-present rage begins to toil. She knows he did this to her, knows that he had poisoned Viserys against his own family, knows that he is to blame, but she also knows that there won't be anything she can do without Viserys hating her. 

She stands up straight, eyes meeting his despite the obvious height difference, but she won't let that deter her, she will stare the old crow in the eye no matter what. He even has a smug smile painted on, If Daemon were here she can't help but think if that smile would still be painted on when his head hit the ground. 

“The day may yet come when you will find yourself a husband, Princess,” he says, the smile still present.

She tries to swallow back the poison nestling in her tongue but at last, there’s only so much she can do, “I could say the same for you, Lord hand. The day may yet come when you will find yourself a lady wife, pity that the last one couldn't handle her duties.”

Poison drips from her mouth, so hot it feels like fire. She leans closer to him, a devilish glint in her eye and a smile too wide, “I do hope your daughter doesn't suffer the same fate.”

She leans back, small satisfaction curling in her chest as the insult digs deep into him, curling around his heart causing his eyes to widen and an affronted look to replace the smug smile he once wore 

She pushes forward, making sure that he’s the one to move from her path as she continues on her way. 

She rids herself of the skirt of her gown and stalks through the halls of Maegor's holdfast, ignoring the servant's startled shouts. She calls for her dragon, his shrieks echoing after her thunderous footsteps as she makes her way out of the Red Keep. She marches out into the many hills of Kings Landing and prepares herself for Mount Rhaegal when a shout echoes from the distance. 

“Aunt!”

The heir to the iron throne ran towards her, stopping near enough that she could still hear her but far enough that Rhaegal wouldn't be unsettled. 

“Where are you going?”

She appraised the young princess, the betrayal still present on her face. Someone as young as her shouldn't have to bear the hurtful truth of the world, and shouldn't have to be anything more than a joyful young girl, but at last, the world is cruel. 

“I am leaving, Princess.”

“Why?”

“My time here is done, I’m no longer needed”

“I need you.”

She grows silent, and the sadness creeping in is clear on her face, She pets Rhaegal’s neck, and dismounts, coming to stand in front of her, from this close she can see the unshed tears gathering at her eyes.  “Please do not go.”

Grabbing a hold of her face, and pressing a quick kiss to her forehead, “I have to, My Sweet, your father is a fool that will damn us all, do not let his cowardice and idiocy ruin you.”  she whispers to her before making her way to her awaiting dragon. She mounts him once more and with a sharp, “Soves” he rises from the ground, and she leaves Kings Landing for the second time in her life. 

***

She leaves for Braavos.

It's great open skies call to her.

Word spreads quickly of a Targaryen in Braavos, lords, merchants, and the common folk come out to see her, all waiting anxiously to get a glimpse of her. 

A glimpse of the once Queen.

She visits brothels, she buys, she drinks, she gambles, and does everything that she lets go of because of her brother.

By the end of it all, the days blur together and she can no longer tell where she is or who she's with. 

***

Word reaches her of the King’s new marriage, a grand event that lasts a whole week, with tourneys, balls, and hunts.

How much fuss they make over a child being forced into a woman’s shoes is simply ridiculous.

Soon after that, the ‘Queen’ births a son.

She sells a ruby necklace that had been gifted to her during their ‘courting’ hoping he can feel it as the smith burns it, hoping he can smell the sizzling of the metal. 

***

She receives a missive from Kings Landing.

The raven that brings it to her is a beautiful creature, wings dark as night, beak and claws sharp and strong, and the red seal of the letter a stark contrast against the white scroll.

It screeches and thrills as she throws it into the fireplace, burning it alive, the wax seal melting, coating the bird's charred bones. 

***

Years come and go, seasons change, blood gets spilled and bodies rot, she’s restless and in turn so is Rhaegal.

A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing. 

Her brother's words echo in her head, they haunt her dreams and days until she’s left with a hollow ache in her chest. 

She feels that he has cursed her because she has never felt this sorrow before, has never felt the need to be with people, she hates to admit it but that year she spent in King’s Landing has changed her. 

She never knew she could learn to miss that place, could never know that she’d miss Kings Landing, but she doesn't. 

She misses Rhaenyra.

She misses Daemon.

She misses Viserys.

Oh her dear brother Viserys, she misses him so much.

But no sorrow can heal the sharp blade he struck her with.

***

Wind rustles her hair, whipping it around as she twirls and bowls in the sky.

She presses her hand to Rhaegal’s scales, warmth seeping through. 

The cool night breeze caused gooseflesh to form on her bare arms, the night similar to when she claimed him. 

She remembers that night so clearly, that night was the best of her life, but also her worst. 

She remembers her father’s rage, the fire he seemed to breathe out, she remembers the unfairness of it all. Her Brothers allowed her to do whatever they wanted while she had to do what was asked of her. Every demand she had to follow while they ran wildly about King's landing. 

She was a nightmare of a child, she wouldn't lie, she knew she was difficult, but so was Daemon, in truth Daemon was worse.

She didn't sire any bastards, she didn't embarrass  Grandmother or her house, she was good. 

But that never mattered, it never did. 

She remembers how she had screamed and raged when she couldn't train alongside them when her blades and breeches were replaced by embroidery pins and dresses. 

In return she cut off her long silver hair, Her father then banned her to her chambers. 

Her mother never intervened, she couldn't, she was dead. The childbed had taken her.

The worst of it came when her father deemed it right to send her away to Driftmark, It was all so reminiscent to her aunt Saera, she knows that if she were here she would have defended her, would have made her father see sense, but at last, she wasn't, she had taken her chance and left the constricting walls of their station. 

Rhaella knows what awaits her, a life filled with pain and false performances, and she knows how she can stop it, she knows what she needs, and she would rather die trying than stay there a moment longer. 

Who knew that she had traded in her father’s love for a dragon?

***

Eventually, she grows bored of Braavos, the whores no longer excite her, the wine begins to taste like seawater, and it seems that everything she once enjoyed no longer brings her pleasure. 

She feels restless, she’s airborne more than she is on land, and there's an itch in her skin that no matter how hard she scratches won't go away.

It drives her mad.

She doesn't know what she’s missing, what troubles her. She doesn't know until her blood doesn't arrive.

She’s never entertained that thought, the thought of bearing a child, of being a mother. But the more she thinks, the more she dreams, and the more she’s alone, the more she wants.

The more her heart grows for someone she hasn't met but knows so well already. 

She finds that the bigger she grows, the less her skin prickles, the harder the kicks come the less alone she feels. 

She doesn't need Viserys or Rhaenyra or Daemon to feel loved, she can create her own family, without having the trials of royalty, without being forced to endure the vultures' beak digging into her skin.

***

She’s dying.

She’s never been close to death, but she imagines this is what it must feel like.

Sweat pools at her back, her vision blurred and her teeth clenched. Her stomach cramps and sharp stabbing pains come from within. Why she thought she should face this alone, she doesn't know, she could have paid anyone to keep their silence, anyone that could have helped her. 

She hisses as something in her pulls and begins to rip her apart, hot flashes flood her senses. 

A scream tears out of her throat, Rhaegal echoing it with a roar of his own, She smells the distinctive scent of iron as something drips down her leg. 

Blood.

She feels too hot, a fire burning her from the inside out,  the night breeze doing little to soothe her, hands grabbing at Rhaegal’s scales as she hoists herself up. She abandoned her bed at the Inn of The Green Eel to get some privacy but how she wishes she had stayed, maybe then she wouldn't be suffering so. 

A whiny grumble comes from Rhaegal and she shushes him, groans of pain leaving her mouth as she begins to walk around the small hill she rode him to.

“Fuck!” she hisses out as another roll of pain goes through her body, taking gasping breaths as she looks up at the sky, the moon gleaming up above so bright, tiny pinpricks of light accompany it. 

A shudder passes through her and as her eyes stay glued to that pearl in the sky, she feels her shoulders loosen, her hands stop quaking, and the soft growls that Rhaegal releases stop. She stands in the quiet, taking in the light shining from above, the cool breeze finally managing to cool her heated skin. 

It seems as if time had stopped as if the world stopped spinning, and she can hardly hear anything, She feels herself falling to the ground, knees hitting the soft grass, There's a roaring in her ears, she at first thinks it to be Rhaegal, but then her throat aches, and her mouth is wide open and just like that everything comes back. 

She hears herself screaming— no howling, a wretched sound that drives fear into her heart, something rips, and something heavy falls out of her, She can hear the wet sound it makes and the soft thud as it falls to the ground. 

She heaves a breath, her heart racing in her chest, She waits in silence as nothing happens, not even Rhaegal makes a sound. She looks up at him, and his fiery gaze remains locked onto the grass, where she’s kneeling on the ground.

She follows his gaze and looks down, The white nightgown she wears no longer resembles a fair maiden, a pure creature of the gods, now a demon is all that's left.

Blood colors the white, her breath rattles in her chest as she moves to touch it, in all her time, in all the deeds she has done she has never seen that much blood. 

Her hands shake as she lifts the hem of the gown. She doesn't know why she wants to look, she knows what awaits her, she knows what has happened, Everyone knows the signs, the smell, the feelings, but still her hand doesn't stop, her breath is caught in her chest. 

The piece of cloth rises, so gently and so slowly it hardly looks as if it were moving, but regardless, the image below is revealed to her. 

This time, it's Rhaegal that screams.

She stares blankly at the… the... The thing below her. 

It's no babe… no child. 

It's poison.

Its skin is gray, and scales run along its arms and legs— its entire body is covered in ridges, blood, and skin tissue attached to some. It has a tail that curls around it as it feigns sleep, it seems to her that this child had died even before it was conceived. 

She looks down at the scaly thing and smiles, A laugh bubbles out of her, a girlish giggle more like it, until it isn't. 

Loud cackles rupture out of her mouth as she looks up at the sky, eyes wide as she laughs at it all, the absurdity of it, just when she wanted it, it was taken from her. 

The gods are cruel creatures indeed. 

Tears begin to suddenly drip down her face, and she screams, shrieks, and howls into the night as the body of her child grows cold. 

She tears at her hair, as her heart breaks, her skin suddenly feels too tight, too small, and she can hardly breathe. 

Eventually, she stops, she stops screaming, she stops crying.

She just stops.

***

The days blur together, the last thing she remembers is fire.

Smoke curling in the air, Rhaegal’s mournful cries and the dried blood crusting on her skin, her eyes burning and her heart aching, aching for…. For anything.

Anything to ease the pain, the guilt that settles in her gut, how foolish she was to want something she has despised all her life. She doesn’t know what came over her, she knew it was a bad idea, had always known it so why?

Why would she do that to herself? To that poor…. thing that came out of her. She could have died, could have given her last breath spread open on the ground, squealing like a pig.

Her body is all wrong, all backwards. Her breast produce milk for a baby that is not there. Her stomach cramps up on its own, a deep emptiness that some days she can’t make it out of bed. 

From time to time, blood pours from her, deep russet rivers that make her believe that this time she will die. That whatever cursed her wasn’t done with her. 

The worst of it all is when she sees it.

Some nights her dreams grasp her tightly, not letting her go when the nightmares sink their claws into her and an empty cradle calls out to her. When she hears a babe’s shrill cries coming from dark shadows, from dark corners, from inside her. 

When she looks down at her stomach her breath rattles and her heart stops seeing something moving inside. Something pushes against her skin until finally she’s ripped open as it crawls out.

Her screams blend with Rhaegal’s, but instead of fire spewing from her mouth, blood pours out.

The worst of it all is when fire consumes her whole being, but instead of the comforting yellow tones, green laps at her skin. A wild green fire that chills her bones and leaves her heart frozen. 

She’s tired, she can’t sleep anymore. Can’t force herself to lie down waiting for some horror to claim her. 

She wants to go home.

She wants to go back to when she was little, when her father was alive and he used to look at her with wonder. When Daemon and Viserys would take her to flee bottom and no one cared what they did. When Mother was alive and everything seemed brighter. When her home wasn’t filled with snakes preying on her brother, on her family. 

She wants it so badly.

Yearns for it.

***

The wind ruffles her hair, her chemise. Her arms, her face. It whips all around her as Rhaegal dips and twirls. The chains at her saddle clink as the force moves them about. 

Her hands grip the handle as Rhaegal, dips down claws dipping into the sea below them, he raises his head and begins to climb up into the sky, wings beating faster and faster until they are above the clouds, the morning sun glaring at them.

She looks around her, but she only sees white. She imagines that this is what being with the gods must be like; eternal light and peace all around. 

She feels weightless, and almost as if she were possessed she loosens the chains at her legs, the ones anchoring her to the saddle. They give away with a sharp clink, but she can't hear it, all she does hear is a soft voice calling to her, beckoning her in,  

Fly, 

Fly with me.

The chain falls off, dropping down into the emptiness below, and she, right now, should land Rhaegal. She should hold on as hard as she can until they are safely on land, but she doesn't. 

She lets go.

And she soars. 

“Don't Worry, I’ll be the one to marry you.” He whispers, his warm hand clutching hers, They stand side by side watching from above as Viserys courts sweet Aemma. 

Knots grew in her stomach, dreading the day when it would be her standing down there, some nameless lord clutching at her hands, promising her things he’d never do once he had her in his bed. 

She turned to look at him, a slight smirk curling on his lips, “You will?” she asked him, a tinge of worry seeping in.

He smiles and nods, squeezing her hand once, “We’ll be together forever, We came into this world together and we will leave it together. I won't let some old man snatch you away.”

She grins and presses a kiss to his cheek, Her heart lifts and the squirming inside her stomach stops, she can finally breathe, knowing that with him, she’ll never have to do anything she doesn't want to. That with him she’ll be free.

She was such a fool back then,  a naive little fool. 

 She tumbles through the air, hears a roar, and looks up Rhaegal’s claws coming closer to her, he sweeps in and they wrap around her. 

They squeeze her too tight but she stays still as he drops her on land, he lands a few feet away from her and she groans as she rolls around. 

He roars so loud that it reverberates in her bones and she can see him, raging at her foolishness, Fire spews from his mouth and paints the skies orange. 

She looks at him,  she can feel his worry for her, his anger, his fear of potentially losing her and she breaks. Her already cleaved heart shatters and tears spring in her eyes. 

“I’m sorry”  she sobs, She climbs to her feet and stumbles towards him, his grumbles spooking the birds, “I'm sorry” she cries once more as she collapses against his scaly chest.

“I’m sorry.”

***

She leaves Braavos.

The great skies turn out to be too big, so big she fears that they might swallow her whole. 

Everything becomes too much when she mistakes a young girl for Rhaenyra when she mistakes a man for Otto and chases him, a dagger aimed at his throat. 

The townspeople fear her and questions about her sanity break out when she does manage to drive a knife through a barmaid's hand. 

Rhaegal makes no fuss at leaving, He knows she is hurting, and knows that his rider is slowly going mad. 

Mad with grief… with betrayal… with loneliness. 

She can't go back to King's Landing, she’s made a fool of herself there already. The last time she heard from Daemon he was in the stepstones fighting a losing man’s battle. She doesn't even know if he’s alive. 

She’s proven wrong when she’s flying over Pentos and a familiar red beast emerges from the clouds, siding up next to her. 

Daemon is a gleaming sun at his back and Rhaella feels it when warmth seeps into her bones at the sight of him. 

***

When they dismount and meet each other on land she can see the dreariness on his shoulders, the heavy breaths he takes and he no longer looks like a sun, and no longer shines as bright as he did, It turns out that what she saw flying on Caraxes’s back was a skeleton, A ghost burning up, bones charring and becoming ash. 

She goes to him, Rhaegal and Caraxes thrilling softly to each other. Daemon is not Daemon anymore, his fire is dulled and she fears what could have happened to put that grandiose flame out. 

“Daemon” she whispers as she walks closer to him, arms wrapping around his shoulders, he stays upright for a few seconds and her hands crawl up his neck, fingers burrowing themselves into his hair and just like a puppet with its strings cut he slumps down onto her shoulder, hands grabbing at her waist. 

His head shakes and his fingers dig deeper into her until finally the dam breaks and gasping breaths come from him, and that’s when she feels genuine fear. Because Daemon doesn't cry easily, never has, so whatever has happened has left him completely shattered. 

“What’s happened?” she whispers, lips pressed to his head, “Tell me, Daemon, Tell me what’s happened?”

He doesn't say anything for a moment until eventually, he sputters out a “She’s dead.”

Her fingers grip him together and she fears for the worst, “Who?”

He doesn't answer her, tears just continue to drip down to her tunic, she presses him, hands moving up to his face, bringing it out of hiding,  “Who, Daemon? Who’s dead?” she pleads with him.

His tear-filled eyes stare back at her, the striking lavender eyes staring into her, seeming to peer into her very being. She can see when it registers what she’s asking him and with a ragged whisper, he says “Laena.” Before dropping his head back down against her. 

***

She stays with him and guides him back to the lord of Pentos’s home where he is staying. As she walks him to his room, she spies small twin faces looking at her from behind. They stare at her as she practically drags Daemon into his chambers away from their prying eyes. 

Inside she can see his grief, the utter destruction that he had wrecked upon his possessions, tables turned over, cushions ripped open and shards of glass scattered on the floor.

She walks him over to the bed and drops him down on it, he stays motionless, looking up at the hanging curtains around the bed. She goes over and calls for some wine and as she waits for it, she sits down next to him, holding his hand as he melts into himself. 

After a moment a maid comes in with a pitcher of wine and some cups, she quietly sets them down on the only remaining table in the room and promptly leaves. Rhaella walks over to them and pours herself and Daemon some wine. She brings it over to him, he rises with a groan and she watches as he nearly gulps down half of it, he looks up at her and she gives him a small smile, before taking a long drink from her cup. 

The sweet and tart drink mellows her senses quickly and she finds herself more at ease, she hopes that it's the same for him. They drink in silence, her waiting for him to speak and him just… being. Letting everything go around him and just being in the aftermath of it all, she knows what it's like, she’s been like that ever since it happened. 

He takes another sip and this time she decides to take the reins, he needs to know that he’s not alone and that he can talk to her.

Before she begins she swishes the wine around in her cup then takes a big swing from it, and sighs “I lost someone too.” She can see him looking at her but she decides to keep going, “ I didn't know them that well, they died before I could have.”

She looks down at the nearly empty goblet, seeing her reflection in the wine, “Sometimes I think I see him, that… that I hear him, that– That it didn't happen and it was all just a horrid dream”

He reaches out, hand grasping her shoulder, “Rhaella–”

She feels her throat clogging up, tears springing up in her eyes, She raises her head and turns to look at him, stopping him from saying anything more “I used to think I didn't want it, that it wasn’t for me, but then… everything changed, I didn't know it could be like that, Daemon. That you could fall in love with someone you haven't even met yet.”

The tears gathering in her eyes fall, one by one, “I didn't know I could miss something that never was, that I could yearn for it moons after it happened. I have seen death, Dameon, always had and I have shook it off but now, it won't let me go. It has sunk its claws into me and won't let me go.”

She takes a shuddering breath and gets ahold of one of his hands,  “Don't let it take you too, Daemon.” She holds him tight as she looks into his eyes, willing her words to stick. 

Willing him to understand. 

“A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing,” she whispers.

***

“We join today at the seat of the sea, to commit lady Laena of House Velaryon to the eternal waters, to the dominion of the merling King where he will guide her for all the days to come.”

It seems to her that funerals follow her everywhere she goes. She’s like a harbinger of death, forever dragging people to its door, She knows it is unpractical, knows that Lady Laena’s death was not her fault, she wasn't even near her when she passed, but still, there's poison swimming in her bloodstream, and it seems to like playing games with her head the most.

Her fourth funeral in all her life and unfortunately she was rather getting tired of them, but she needed to be here for Daemon, and his girls. The poor things shift from crying to staring solemnly at the ground, their grandmother's hand, resting on their shoulders. Princess Rhaenys, looking straight ahead, her veil seems to be a shield to her. 

She stands next to Daemon, arms clasped together, She stands tall, something for him to hold onto.

She can't help but think that he’s fragile and unstable and that the presence of the snakes does not make him feel any better, but she knows that it is not Daemon who's unstable. That Daemon doesn’t need someone to hold onto.

 It is Her. 

It's a wonder to her that she hadn't lunged at that Hightower Queen at first glance. As much as it would please her to watch her bleed, she finds that making her squirm pleases her much more. She had tried to approach her before the funeral began but a sharp glare had stopped her in her tracks. 

But Rhaenyra... Sweet Rhaenyra, who seems to be all grown up, has children, two young boys, with the darkest bed of hair and the sweetest eyes. She doesn't understand how that came to be, considering Ser Laenor’s coloring, but who is she to judge, not long ago she would have had her bastard child. 

Your dead bastard child.

A dark smirk curls around her lips, her bastard child; is dead. Dead before he even took his first breath and looked at her, with not only one but two of her own. The gods certainly have favorites. 

“Salt courses through velaryon blood. Ours runs thick. Ours runs true. And ours must never thin.”

Vaemond words ring around the funeral procession and no one ever dares to breathe, She looks to see Rhaenyra gather her children closer to her while Larnore can’t even look at anyone.

The poison pulses in her veins and something whispers, Everyone knows. And Rhaella can’t help it when a drop of humor lands on her tongue, she’s seeing things for what they truly are, poor Rhaenyra trying to make everyone believe in her lies, to run a blind eye at the blatantly obvious.

She sneaks a peek at Daemon and she can’t help the giggle that slips out of her when she already finds him to be looking at her. At the same time, small giggles fall from their lips and she has half a mind to stop themselves but it seems that the poison finds humor in it too. 

She finally manages to wrangle her laughter under control and presses a hand to her lips, silencing any further bouts of giggling. At her side, Daemon doesn’t even try to hide the traces of their abnormal joy. 

She can feel the shocked looks thrown their way and she can only guess what they might be thinking. 

Soon enough, the great coffin with nobody inside is dropped to the sea, and the funeral service is done, Guests and close family spread out, some lightly talking to each other while others head to nearby tables serving refreshments. 

She turns to look at Daemon, and tugs on his arm, “I’m going to get us some wine.” she sighs, he quietly nods at her and she begins to move to the table at the back. While she walks she can feel eyes on her and when she turns to look, the remorseful eyes of Viserys greet her. 

He looks horrible, hair thinning, face haggard with little scars and blotches. He’s leaning back on a chair, a cane in his hand. He truly looks like an old man now, an old King.

A dying King, it whispers.

She looks down at her feet before granting him an upturn of her lips, not a smile, but something similar to it. She quickly resumes her journey and serves up two goblets of wine. She grabs them and means to head back to Daemon when she sees Viserys speaking to him, Daemon looking to get rid of him. 

She looks around and spots the great cunt himself; Otto Hightower conversing with his daughter, the poison swivels in her gut and she can already feel it flooding her mind, Quickly she turns back around to face the different assorted pastries and grabs one of the goblets and quickly downing it, before setting it down on the mantle, she grabs the other and begins to make quick work on it when a cough sounds from behind her. 

She turns around, and there she is, “Rhaenyra” She greets her with a small smile on her lips. She expects to be greeted in the same way but no.

Rhaenyra stays silent, just continuing to look at her, eyes roaming over her entire being, She comes forward towards Rhaella and reaches around the table, grabbing a cup of wine, before walking away to where her children stand., and Rahella couldn't be more confused, she doesn't remember doing something to upset her, well maybe laughing at her children’s situation but you can't blame her, It was rather Daemon’s fault she had laughed but before she can dwell on it even more, the man of the hour hobbles his way towards her. 

She can see the short journey to her, pains him, he is not as strong as he used to be, He stands before her, hand clutching a cane, “Rhaella” he whispers

“Viserys” she breathes out, looking at this poor old man who used to stand so tall against anything. Now he’s hunched over, neck struggling to remain up.

She can hear him huffing for breaths as he reaches for a hand  to hold onto her arms, “Rhaella, I’m so terribly sorry.”

“I… I never should have done that, I regret it every day. I shouldn’t have made you flee your home. I’m so sorry but I am glad that you are with Daemon he told me how you have been a great comfort to him and that you understand his pain and difficulty in dealing with the children—“

Viserys’ rough simpering drowns out, She’s no longer at Driftmark, she’s at the top of that grassy hill, Rhaegal roaring behind her, green fire,  there’s blood on her hands, sweet sticks to her brow, and that formless child lays in front of her, he knows he knows he knows, it frantically whispers and—

She’s back.

Viserys' clouded face becomes clear in her sight, he’s saying something but she only manages to catch “—well?”

She still feels a bit lightheaded and a sharp ringing in her ears so she only manages to quickly excuse herself and make her way to the beach down below. The sand slides under her feet, almost taking her off balance but she manages, She quickly trudges up the soft dunes and sharp climbs until her feet meet the sea. She watches the waves crash and run over and into each other. Each pull and push causes the air to have slight salty undertones. The sun, ever persistent despite the situations, continues to burn bright in the sky, uncaring of whatever turmoil is happening under its rays. 

She looks back up to the viewing deck where people are still walking about, she just manages to spy a couple of the kingsguard leaving their posts and making their way inside, Vierys must have turned in then. Gods he couldn't possibly know, could he? No Daemon wouldn't tell, Daemon’s the only one who knows and he wouldn’t just spew her secrets out. 

He would. 

At the back of her mind, something slithers out, dark and ugly and twisted, it curls around her, over her eyes and mouth, forcing her into total darkness. 

“No, he wouldn’t,” she mumbles, eyes frozen, staring at nothing

He would, he’s got no reason not to. You left, you left them, they all hate you for it, they have no loyalty towards you, no reason to protect you, you caused them to drift apart. 

“I didn't, that was all Viserys.”

No, it was you, you were the one who left them, you were the one who refused to do your duty, you were the one who made Viserys choose another.

“I didn't make him do anything, he is the King and man grown, he can make his own decisions.”

Yes, but you were the one who pushed him towards that one, he dirtied our valyrian blood, but it was because of you, and you must suffer for it.

Great heaving breaths overtake her, There's something wrong, something is happening to her, There's a great ache in her stomach and when she moves her hands towards it she finds it bulging, skin pressing tight to the fabric of her dress, a yelp scapes from her mouth when something begins to push against the skin of her stomach. She knows what happens next, knows it, but she can't make herself look away. She stands there, hands limp at her sides as something claws its way out, blood marring the already dark fabric making it impossibly darker.

You are the one to blame, so your child was taken from you. 

A sharp scream leaves her mouth as sharp claws emerge from within her, and blood falls all around her, on her hands, feet, hair, and mouth. 

And suddenly, it's all gone.

And she’s back, back at Driftmark, sand at her back, watching the night sky, listening to the roaring of the waves. She blinks a few times, tears escaping her eyes. What is wrong with her? She can't be acting like this, so.. Weak. Letting things that are not there affect her. 

He’s gone, he’s dead, and there's nothing she can do to change that. 

She slowly rises from the ground, wiping the sand off of her. The chill air swept through her hair and stray tear tracks. She turns around and makes her way back inside Driftmark’s castle, to go and hide in her rooms till morning when she and Daemon and… the girls can return to Pentos. 

Reaching her chambers she goes in, ignoring the guard posted at the door. She rids herself of the heavy mourning garments, flops down on her bed, and lets her eyes close, well aware that nightmares are the only thing waiting for her, but she doesn't care anymore, She’s far too tired to. Seeing Viserys with his brand new family, Rhaenyra ignoring her and angry at her for whatever reason wounds her. Sure she was not expecting a great celebration or open arms from her, but she had never spoken to her since she had left so truly what was she expecting? 

She had abandoned them, abandoned her— she’d promised she wouldn't do that, but she did. She’d gotten on top of her dragon and never tried to reach out to her. Never wrote to her, never visited, she had done nothing. So in truth… she deserved it. She deserves Rahenyra’s coldness, she deserves to be ignored, she deserves to be alone. 

With that thought she drifts, well aware of the dark shadow creeping at her back, of the green swirling around her. 

****

Shouting.

Armor clinking.

Hurried footsteps.

A wail.

The green.

And she shoots up from the bed.

Her heart beats wildly in her chest, Loud commotion comes from behind her door, rapid footsteps causing the first thought to enter her head that someone has attacked Driftmark.

She rushes out of bed, quickly slipping a robe on and grabbing a small dagger, She runs out of her room. 

The halls of Driftmark resemble a street market of braavos, servants flutter around carrying towels and buckets of water. They run back and forth, others coming and going from the sea snake’s hall. She follows behind them, her hurried steps mixing in with all the noise. 

She reaches the hall, fully expecting to see some woman starting her labors, but is instead greeted by all the courtesans and the king and queen. 

And a small boy with blood covering half his face, she doesn't know what she’s seeing until it fully registers in her head. 

The boy only had one eye.

That's when she sees the queen, the poor little queen filled with fear, her eyes wide and lips trembling. Her hands are holding onto her neck as she stares down at the maester that is sewing her sons’ eye closed. 

Rhaella’s eyes continue to roam over everything else, seeing Rhaenyar’s boys at the other side of the hall, the younger one with blood covering his mouth and nose, while the elder one suffers minor scratches and bruises. She sees how the elder one clutches the youngest near him, holding him close, and already knows what has happened, already knows that they have caused.

She straps her blade to her gown and quickly makes her way over to them. They shrink back away from her when they see her approach but she eases their worry, “Don't worry, I just want to help.” she whispers, reaching for the youngest one’s face.

“Let me see” She angles it upwards, assessing the damage. Seeing nothing too major she flags down a servant girl to bring her some towels and water and begins to wipe down the blood from his face. 

“It was an accident,” he whispers, “I didn't mean to cut out his eye, he was going to kill Jace.” he wobbles, small eyes quickly filling with unshed tears. 

She smiles ruefully, “Don't worry, it'll be alright.”

“It will heal, will it not, Maester?”

With a pregnant pause, the Queen’s lips tremble and the Maester avoids her gaze, “The flesh will heal, but the eye is lost, Your grace.”

Rhaella sees the devastation consume Allicent, sees the way it grips her so hard that makes her forget where she is. Alicent rounds on her eldest, her hand sharply striking the boy on the cheek, and a pained gasp leaves the boy’s lips. 

From above, Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys come down the stairs, making a bee-line for Balea and Rhaena whom she just noticed were at the other end of the hall. Rhaenys quickly gathers her granddaughters in her arms, comforting them, and softly kissing the tops of their heads. She watches all this with a strange twinge in her heart, She can feel the oldest of Rhaenyra’s sons at her back, hands gripping her arm. She turns back to the small one in front of her and finds him still looking at her, eyes filled with….. Trust. She looks at this little thing of a person wondering how it can look at her like that after all she’s done was abandon everyone.

She can see the maester tending to the boy, can see the blood caked onto the boys, can see the Queen's desperation, can smell it in the air, can see how any moment now it will spill and take everything down in its path. 

With bated breath she turns back to the boy—Jace, “Tell me what's happened, Everything.”

The boy rushes in his explanation, some parts get lost, but she gathers most of it. The Princes were fighting amongst each other, dragons were taken, insults were thrown, heads were bashed in, and eyes were put out. Suddenly the doors open and in comes Rhaenyra, hair disheveled and dress askew, and just a few paces behind her, Daemon. 

She scans the scene, eyes widening when she sees her with her sons, but that doesn't stop her. She rushes towards them, bending down to look at the boy’s face. “What happened?” she turned to Rhaella, stunning her not thinking she would speak to her. 

Quickly gathering herself she explains, “It was an accident, but it won't be viewed as such, Lucerys put out Ameond’s eye.”

“The prince was attacked by his nephews, Your grace.” some dornish kingsguard explains to a raging Viserys.

“It was a regrettable accident.” Rahenyra retorts, Hands gripping onto her boy’s shoulders, 

From across the room the Queen scoffs, “Accident? prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush he meant to kill my son.” 

Rhaenyra draws back, spine tensing, she comes forward pushing her children behind her, shielding them with her body, “It was my sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves,” a sneer covers her face, “Vile insults were thrown against them.”

When Viserys turns to face them, a confused frown upon his face, Rhaella can't believe the absurdity of this man, the gall to pretend he doesn't know what Rhaenyra is talking about. “He called them bastards, Viesrys,” she tells him, looking straight into his eyes, willing him for once in his life to stop the idiocy. 

She leaves Rhaenyra's side and walks over to him her eyes roving over the green Queen with her green sleeves and her green bleeding heart, staring straight into her soul “I do wonder where he learned that perhaps we must sharply question the little prince so we can learn where, of course, unless someone wishes to come forward and well, admit anything” she finishes eyes glued onto Allicent’s. She can see where she realizes what she means, can see the panic strike her, her eyes moving sharply to Aemond and Viserys, terrified out of her mind that Viesrys realizes what she meant. 

But as always, Viserys doesn't have a single clue on what she meant, it seems that he had stopped listening after the word bastards, and is now hovering over Aemond. 

“You tell me, boy, where did you hear this lie?” Viserys, Allicent tries to steer Viserys’s attention to babbling about the training yard but Viserys won't budge, She hears his breath hitch, “Aemond!” he shouts into the boy’s face, “I asked you a question.”

Something is coming loose within her, something keeps twisting in her heart, pooling into her head, her mouth. 

It burns her.

“It was Aegon'' the boy breathes out and it's a wonder no one sees the look of relief that overcomes Allicent’s face. It sickens her, how it is all right there in Visery's face yet he refuses to see. 

Viserys, like some man-possessed stalks towards Aegon, and once again demands to hear where this “lie” comes from. Rhaella doesn't know what Viserys expects, that eventually if he goes around asking who spoke these lies he’ll find the culprit. She can't help the scoff that leaves her mouth, Rhaenyra turns to her, eyes filled with tears yet, she doesn't let them fall, She stands tall, composed, yet showing the right amount of anger towards this. Aliicent on the other hand looks a right mess, fingers bloodied, eyes nearly bloodshot, and faint tear tracks on her cheeks. She can see she’s nearing her end, see the rope is fraying, and sees that any moment it will snap. 

“We know, Father. Everyone knows father, just look at them.” the boy breathes out, eyes glued to the ground. 

The Queen has no decency to show no emotion, satisfaction preens under her skin, She practically glows, hoping that now Viserys will see what they have been dripping into his ears. 

The green.

Bastard

Dead bastard

She looks at Rhaenyra, sees the fear for her children, the years of torture she must have spent under this demon, and with a single look she promises no more, this ends now. 

“Enough!, This fighting must cease, you are a family. Now show goodwill to one another and make your apologies.” Viserys shouts and like always no one listens, Who would dare to listen to the words of an old man? 

She sees the queen wilt, sees the realization that croons in her ear, no matter what you do, you cannot touch her.

Alicent turns to Viserys, “That is insufficient,” she breathes, the dam breaking, tears trailing down her cheeks. “Aemond has been damaged permanently, My king. Goodwill cannot make him whole.”

Viserys turns to her, eyes wide, “What will you have me do then? I cannot restore his eye.”

“There is a debt to be paid, I want the eye of Lucerys Velaryon.”

Silence, absolute silence, then chaos.

Viesrys ignores her, ignores her tears, her begging “Allicent, this matter is finished.” He turns his back to her, and like a viper, she strikes. 

Green

Green

Dead

Bastard

Dead Bastard

Dead

Alicent grabs the conqueror's blade that Viserys keeps at his hip, and runs towards them, towards Rhaenyra, Towards the children, Towards her, Towards the bastards.

And Rhaella, 

Rhaella throws herself at the Green Queen. 

Rhaella comes up behind her, hand reaching out and firmly grasping that bed of red hair. Strands held tightly in her fist. Alicent howls in pain and rears the blade back, trying to strike at her from behind but Rhaella avoids it. She gathers the hair at the base of her neck and whips her about forcing her to go limp. In a flash, she presses her dagger to the queen’s throat and waits. 

Everything stops.  

The queen’s shaken breath and her ragged one fusing. She can hear Viserys shouting only for it to fall on deaf ears, she can hear the roaring of a thousand dragons, can fear a fire that burns her insides yet most of all she can hear the shrill cries of a babe. Cries so sharp yet so hollow, cries that dig into her and then all of a sudden, she sees nothing, nothing but a speck of green.

A speck of green that grows, and grows until it suffocates her, wrapping itself around her, holding her tight, and just as fast as it appeared, it's gone. 

“Rhaella! Release her at once!”

Alicent’s rage-filled shrieks are heard, demanding to be let loose, demanding for someone to do something but no one does, no one moves. Rhaella maneuvers them so she’s facing the rest of the court, her roving over their horror-filled gazes, but she stops when she meets the Hand’s eyes. She stares him down, her knife at his daughter’s throat. He begins to move towards them but Rhaella won't allow that. With a warcry, she raises the blade above Alicent’s head and she can practically feel the terror that courses through when Alicent sees the blade pointed at her from above. 

She can distantly hear a dragon roaring, and feel the flames at her back, on her face, all around her.

Fire and Blood

Fire and Blood

Fire and Blood

It swirls all around her, crazed murmurs running across her mind until all is shattered. She feels a shove come from her side, separating her from Alicent and she feels as the knife comes down and narrowly misses the Queen’s face. She turns to see the little Queen, cradling her cheek as blood trails down it. Everyone watches in tense silence, no one daring to move until a cold voice says, “Very well, since you seem to want to take the blame for my son’s abuse, I shall have your head instead. Ser criston—”

“Allicent, No.”

Her eyes snap to Viserys, who looks dead on his feet yet his face is thunderous, “That is enough.” he hisses. 

“Viserys—, She just assaulted me, she had a knife trained on my throat! she meant to kill me just as they meant to kill my son.” Alicent rounds on Viserys, grasping at his arms. 

“Please, my love, she meant to kill me, She meant to kill your Queen!” She shrieks.

“No.” Rahella callously calls out, Alicent turns to face her,  eyes wide and lips still trembling. 

Rhaella looks straight into Alicent's eyes,  sees the desperation clinging to her yet the fear that is beginning to form, she stares straight into the eyes of this demon, this poison that claws at them and demands for retribution in the wrong place. 

“You are not a Queen, you are some whore—” gasps filled the hall, “that just so happens to spread her legs for the right man.” 

She swishes out her blade and points it at her, eyes burning, “If I had meant to kill you, I can assure you that would would not still be standing here with us, begging pathetically for something that you do not understand. Her sons are next in line to the throne, yours are nothing. You so much as dare to look at him, and I will have your head. That is a promise.” 

There is a sense of finality in her voice, her gaze doesn't waver as she points the blade at the Queen, tempting her to do something, waiting for her to try, and for a second she looks as if she will. But then, her eye catches on the still sharp blade pointed at her throat, the silence that comes Viserys and she lets down, she can see a king's guard coming closer to her but she puts down the blade before he can take it from her hands. 

She turns around, walking back to Rhaenyra and her children, they stare up at her as if she were a god, eyes wide, filled with trust, with hope yet a tinge of fear. She turns to Rhaenyra who is watching her too, Rhaella reaches out a hand, and places a palm on Rhaenyra’s cheek, and lowly whispers to her, “I'm here now, I'm not abandoning you again.”

And just for a second she thinks she saw tears welling up in her eyes, but just as quickly as she saw them, they are gone. Rhanyra gives her a stiff nod, reaching her hand up and takes the hand that's at her cheeks and intertwines it with her own. She gently squeezes it, and with a small smile she says “I'm not letting you go either way.”