Dragon Blooded

the  time  would  come  for  them  to  inter  the  ashes  of  the  princess  regent  within  the  family  tomb  on  dragonstone  which  was  more  so  a  glorified  cave  beneath  the  dragonmont  with  urns  made  from  dragonglass  placed  within  the  walls  but  vaela  knew  what  her  twin  had  planned  for  their  youngest  cousin  and  had  not  wished  to  leave  without  first  checking  in  on  rhaella  as  much  would  change  once  they  returned  from  dragonstone.  with  quiet  steps,  she  breached  the  sanctity  of  the  lannister - targaryen  halls  of  the  royal  quarters,  only  to  be  halted  in  her  steps  by  one  of  the  guards  standing  outside  of  her  cousin's  rooms  ─  both  eyes,  seeing  and  unseeing,  flickered  up  to  the  guard  in  challenge,  her  voice  as  thin  as  a  reed  in  the  wind.  ❝  ...  do  you  dare  ?  ❞  she  murmured,  a  curious  tilt  to  her  head  that  was  at  once  both  playful  and  dangerous.  things  were  changing  in  the  red  keep,  golden  lions  chased  out  by  the  red  dragons  of  the  true  heir  and  it  seemed  as  though  the  guard  thought  better  of  his  loyalties,  admitting  her  into  the  room  by  announcing  her  name  and  opening  the  door  just  wide  enough  to  grant  her  entry. rhaella  sat  by  the  fireplace,  undoubtedly  where  the  egg  resided  as  well,  and  vaela  felt  her  smile  soften  for  a  moment.  ❝ i  have  been  dreaming  of  dragons.  will  you  spare  an  ear  to  listen  to  the  ramblings  of  your  cousin  ?  ❞

It made her cousin's voice a welcome one. "Vaella! There is no one I would rather hear speak." Which was true, for the moment. Rhaella could not understand half the things Vaella said, but she liked to hear them, those tangled dreams that made so little sense to someone who could not see them directly. 

their union would be no less than a challenge and matthos had learned as much from the moment he met his betrothed. as with jousting and any obstacle that came his way, the sword of thorns was not one to go down without a fight. if it was not for his mother's own betrayal by house targaryen, perhaps he could be swayed - but his family is owed and they will be repaid. he would hope to find something positive in whatever connection they would have but if she found grief a better companion, then so be it.

"  it  must  be  difficult...  but  it  is  good  to  have  family  close  by,  yes,  i  agree.  "  matt  offers  a  soft  grin,  knowing  he  must  pick  and  choose  when  to  press  a  certain  matter.  sometimes,  however,  it  is  good  to  keep  a  focus  on  true  goals.  "  thankfully,  the  ride  from  king's  landing  to  highgarden  is  a  smooth  one  with  fast  travels  on  horseback  and  by  raven.  "  as  well  as  a  shorter  travel  distance  should  her  egg  ever  hatch,  though  he  figures  that  itself  will  be  another  hindrance  to  settle.

"Thankfully, dragons can cover far more ground than a horse ever could. I will only ever be a few day's flight away." Let her stance be clear now then. She would NOT be tied down to one place. She was a Targaryen, even if she was sent away. Exiled. She had been given the gift of an egg, which was an endorsement as far as Rhaella was concerned. 

But the branch extended to her? Unexpected. It was not in Rhaella's nature to question kindness, but years of her father's words finally broke through to her, all her shields made brittle by her mother's death. What did he hope to gain from her? 

"Maybe we will be needed here by our cousin. Maybe... We could have something from all of this. Something that is not a chain, but a rope thrown to a sailor." Pretty words, but again Rhaella contradicted herself. Nothing could ever fit her; nothing could ever be enough. No wonder some Targaryens went mad. 

there  was  the  difference  between  them,  aeryn  thought.  freedom  for  rhaella  was  distance,  was  being  able  to  spread  her  wings  and  leave,  unmoored  and  untameable.  aeryn  saw  no  reason  to  go.  he  liked  king's  landing,  liked  his  chambers  and  his  books,  the  well-trodden  path  to  the  dragonpit,  the  view  of  the  blackwater  from  starfyre's  bacak.  here  was  familiar.  here  was  home,  and  here  was  safety⸻now  snatched  from  them  along  with  the  life  of  their  mother.  aeryn  wanted  to  believe  he  could  trust  vaeles,  but  it  was  truer  that  he  could  only  trust  in  himself.  there  is  no  man  more  accursed  than  a  kinslayer,  and  there  is  no  man  safer  than  one  with  his  enemies  buried.  or  cremated,  as  aeryn  would  never  deny  his  cousin  the  honor  and  their  custom.  their  father  had mentioned  the  girls  wouldn't  understand.  when  had  he  ever  led  aeryn  astray  ?

❝    well,  with  that  attitude,  it  won't.    ❞    not  that  he  would  know  anything  about  it.  starfyre  had  come  to  him⸻returned  to  her  home,  rather⸻as  he  shivered  and  snivelled  in  a  damp,  dank  cave.  he  wouldn't  be  surprised  to  learn  she  thought  he  was  a  snack  blown  in  by  the  storm  until  he  reached  out  to  touch  her  muzzle  and  commanded  her  to  obey  him.  releasing  rhaella's  hand,  he  instead  wound  an  arm  round  her  shoulders,  bowing  his  head  closer  to  tighten  their  circle  of  privacy.    ❝    it  will  do  you  no  good  to  worry  for  the  worst,  hāedus.  you  are  fire  and  blood,  as  am  i.  the  egg  will  hatch.    ❞    rich,  coming  from  aeryn.    ❝   perhaps  it's  waiting  for  you  to  be  less  maudlin,  dear.    ❞

"At least our cousins mourn with us. It is a small consolation." She was peripherally aware that what affection she felt towards the Dragonstone branch of her family was not entirely felt by her brother, but she wanted to know more, to know why. Since she could not ask directly, she would do so obliquely instead. It was about time she learned to use some of those skills their father had insisted they all learn, that Rhaella had failed so often at. 

It was a creeping bloodlust, a desire to see the knights unhorse each other and then pull out their weapons, to fight until that first trail of crimson blood married their skin, the Targaryen color and half their legacy. Rather than sit uncomfortably with those feelings, Rhaella rose and left the royal box to mingle among the other nobles. There was a lapse between bouts as one fallen knight was taken away, fresh sand swept over where he laid.

A guard trailed her- not one of the Kingsguard, but a member dedicated to the royal family. She knew him, though not well, but he had her flaws down. When Rhaella paused, he whispered the name of the woman she looked at in her ear. 

sand  was  quick  to  mask  the  crimson  as  one  of  the  attendants  raked  the  ground  ,  another  re - levelling   where  the  fallen  knight  had  been  dragged  from  the  lists  by  his  squires  ;  cheers  for  the  victor  still  to  be  heard   reverberating  around  the  sands  .  their  name  would  soon  be  replaced  by  another  ,  the  crowds  loyalty  leaning  more  towards  spectacle  than  house  allegiance  –  the  more  gruesome  the  fall  ,  the  louder  they  cheered  .  amongst  all  of  this  ,  however  ,  sylva's  attentions  were  drawn  from  whispers  of  bloodlust  to  the  hurried  and  polite ,  your  highness ,  accompanied  with  a  chorus  of  bowing  heads .   sylva  too  followed  their  reaction ,  her  curtsey  polished  yet  rushed  as  the  princess  rhaella  came  before  her .   ❛  lord  thain  harlaw  asked  for  it  ,  princess .  ❜    not  that  it  would  bring  him  much  luck  ,  just  like  the  other  ironborn  competitors   they  were  better  placed  upon  ships  opposed  to  horseback  .  ❛   what  of  your  own  favor  ?  who  is  the  fortuitous  knight  to  brandish  such  an  honour  ?  ❜

"Do you think we could find a way to have mock ship battles on the Blackwater?" The question was more than rhetorical; Rhaella was actually contemplating it. Wouldn't that be great fun? A great expense too, but maybe it would please those who ordinarily found such events tiresome. 

Oh, right. She had asked about favors to be polite, and now Rhaella had to get that conversation out of the way. "No one has asked, but should a knight win who has not bestowed it upon a lady, my sister and I stand ready to receive." Polite, to the point, and possibly true. 

Their secret language, meant for conversations like these. So few here knew their mother as a person. She was only a regent to them, a figurehead meant to stand there until a true king arrived. They never saw who she was as mother or wife, or any of the other things that made up who she was. 

"Skori nyke kipagon iā zaldrīzes, kesan henujagon pōntoma inkot ." When I ride a dragon, I will leave them all behind. 

gaomilaksir.  a  word  just  as  easily  meaning  errand,  or  chore.  if  only  they  were  afforded  such  impermanence⸻like  being  asked  to  return  a  book  to  the  library  or  pick  up  a  cloak  off  the  floor,  set  a  meal  for  a  pet,  visit  the  markets  for  groceries.  easy,  simple,  one-off  tasks.  they  had  servants  for  such  things.  and  in  exchange,  they had  duties,  to  the  people  and  the  crown.  aeryn  supposed,  in  this  instance,  that  paying  deference  to  one's  departed  parent  was  a  burden  placed  on  the  shoulders  of  both  smallfolk  and  prince.  but  at  least  they  were  given  the  luxury  of  privacy  for  their  mourning.  it  could  be  a  blessing,  aeryn  thought,  if  people  didn't  care  enough  to  know  that  your  mother  had  died.

❝    nyke  tolī  ?    ❞    he  was  not  sure  if  he  meant  it  as  a  jest,  though  the  question  was  punctuated  by  something  of  a  half-smile.  perhaps  it  was  for  the  best,  anyhow.  all  he's  ever  wanted  is  for  his  sisters  to  be  happy.  rhaella  had  never  truly  been,  not  in  thiss  cage  they  were  all  hatched  into.  and  if  he  must  remain,  be  the  anchor  for  all  three  of  them,  that  was  an  easy  choice  to  make.

But her father's presence took any dreams Rhaella had and dashed them to the ground. The man looked ill, and already she heard rumors about him and their mother, about her own brother and the crown. She tried to close her ears to them, but it was impossible to avoid. Freedom versus family. Which would she choose? Maybe it was long past time that she gave up the silly dreams of girlhood. 

"It may not hatch, and then I will be stuck in Highgarden, so far away from you all." First she spoke about leaving King's Landing, and next she talked as if she never wanted to go. Her own mind was a tumult and sadness could only make it worse. 

sand  was  quick  to  mask  the  crimson  as  one  of  the  attendants  raked  the  ground  ,  another  re - levelling   where  the  fallen  knight  had  been  dragged  from  the  lists  by  his  squires  ;  cheers  for  the  victor  still  to  be  heard   reverberating  around  the  sands  .  their  name  would  soon  be  replaced  by  another  ,  the  crowds  loyalty  leaning  more  towards  spectacle  than  house  allegiance  –  the  more  gruesome  the  fall  ,  the  louder  they  cheered  .  amongst  all  of  this  ,  however  ,  sylva's  attentions  were  drawn  from  whispers  of  bloodlust  to  the  hurried  and  polite ,  your  highness ,  accompanied  with  a  chorus  of  bowing  heads .   sylva  too  followed  their  reaction ,  her  curtsey  polished  yet  rushed  as  the  princess  rhaella  came  before  her .   ❛  lord  thain  harlaw  asked  for  it  ,  princess .  ❜    not  that  it  would  bring  him  much  luck  ,  just  like  the  other  ironborn  competitors   they  were  better  placed  upon  ships  opposed  to  horseback  .  ❛   what  of  your  own  favor  ?  who  is  the  fortuitous  knight  to  brandish  such  an  honour  ?  ❜

"Do you think we could find a way to have mock ship battles on the Blackwater?" The question was more than rhetorical; Rhaella was actually contemplating it. Wouldn't that be great fun? A great expense too, but maybe it would please those who ordinarily found such events tiresome. 

Oh, right. She had asked about favors to be polite, and now Rhaella had to get that conversation out of the way. "No one has asked, but should a knight win who has not bestowed it upon a lady, my sister and I stand ready to receive." Polite, to the point, and possibly true. 

the princess evading his company at any turn was unsurprising, yet matthos was growing impatient with their game of cat and mouse. she was only afforded so much lenience due to the tragic events that would cause house targaryen to be busy with grief if nothing else. still, he knows this behavior would be present regardless of circumstances - which only fuels his anger. appearances matter more than anything, causing his attire to reflect mourning in solidarity with future in laws, gold accents accompanying dark neutrals. the tyrell lord turns on his heel and lingers toward the direction of the royal apartments. near perfect timing, too, he thinks as a tall familiar blonde is caught in his gaze. a bow is given first in respect, eyes glancing up to meet hers.

"  princess  rhaella,  "  he  greets,  voice  sickly  sweet  like  honey.  "  my  condolences  for  the  loss  of  your  mother.  "  a  shame  she  could not first witness her eldest daughter in a wedding gown.  "  i  cannot  imagine  what  you  are  going  through,  though  i  offer  my  shoulder  if  it  could  do  some  help  in  easing  your  pain.  "

But avoiding a single person in the Red Keep proved impossible, no matter how large it was. A black dress could not make a Targaryen bled into the shadows. 

"Lord Matthos." At least she did not have to sound pleased to see him. Exhaustion was in her tone and written on her face. 

This was the man she was to wed, his words honey-sweet. It was too bad that she had never much cared for honey. 

"Thank you for your condolences. I am sure they are entirely heart-felt." Of course. 

"Only time can heal this wound. Time and the presence of my beloved siblings." Not leaving them behind for Highgarden. 

"It is unfortunate that our union must be delayed, but proper mourning should be observed. And then the coronation." 

And what about their father? It took her a few seconds to parse her sister's question. Rhaella did not particularly like him as a person, but he was still her flesh and blood, and she did not associate him with ill motives (the bliss of ignorance.) "I have heard some things," she allowed. "Why would they say such things about him? What could he gain by killing our mother?" 

"I'm sure it's much more mundane than what you have at your keep." There. That was a not so subtle way to ask. 

alesander supposes he should be happy to be in the water, but the placid waters of the blackwater do nothing to him. there something about sheer force of the sea that can't be replaced – how it's moody and feisty and no one can tame it. maybe it's what alesander likes the most about it, that out in the sea there are no lords, no ladies, no smallfolk, they are all vassals to nature (and the drowned god, for the ironborn).

he pictures himself far away, at the shores of lonely light. he can see them perfectly in his mind, the waves crashing against the stones, the seals and sea lions lounging on them, eyeing humans with equal parts fascination and contempt. he would approach them as he always does, sit among them for they are one, surround himself with nature and relax.

he is almost, almost slipping away from himself. the desire is there, as it always is, and his mind is almost drifting when he hears a voice. he shakes himself awake, turning to look at princess rhaella. "my princess, what an honor." he bows in deference, wishing that she would have chosen another conversation partner. there is nothing alesander hates more than the political implications of talking to a royal. "i find it every..." he gestures towards the city. "crowded."

Lord Farwynd did not seem very honored at her presence, despite what his words said. Was the better thing to do to leave? But she wanted to know more. No, Rhaella would stay. 

"It's boring, isn't it? This isn't how the Blackwater usually is. They created all of this just for today." The artificiality was still grating on her, even if she did not realize the extent of the sacrifices made to create it. 

❝    māzīs.    ❞    a  hand,  calloused  by  leather  reins  and  sliced  by  parchment,  fumbled  blindly  for  a  slender  and  smoother  one,  its  own  twin  resting  on  the  hilt  of  a  sword  more  ceremonial  than  functional⸻but  another  emblem  of  princely  austerity,  more  tricks  from  the  crown,  a  regal  farce.  much  like  this  whole  ceremony,  the  family's  grief  laid  bare.  how  many,  aeryn  wonders,  of  these  people  actually  mourn  his  mother  ?  how  many  saw  fit  to  criticize  her  rule  only  to  now  weep  into  handkerchiefs  and  murmur  condolences  that  blurred  together,  vague  and  trite  and,  to  be  frank,  now  quite  irritating  ?  and  why  must  the  princess  regent's  children  be  forced  to  endure  the  mendacity  ?  how  had  their  cousins  been  able  to  manage  it  three  times  over  ?

"Ñuha dīnagon iksis kesīr.  Kesan gaomagon ñuha gaomilaksir." My place is here. I will do my duty. Her brother, of all people, would know how much Rhaella craved her freedom after such events. But this was for their mother, not merely a dinner to placate some stuffy Lord. 

"Gaomagon mirre hen vali care? pōnta gōntan daor gīmigon zirȳla." Do any of these people care? They did not know her. 

Their secret language, meant for conversations like these. So few here knew their mother as a person. She was only a regent to them, a figurehead meant to stand there until a true king arrived. They never saw who she was as mother or wife, or any of the other things that made up who she was. 

"mandia¹," she lapses to high valyrian, the tongue of their most ancient fore-bearers, as if this small act might bring them closer. as though she might cut through the belly of language to slip inside and find the womb they had lost. visaera's hand takes rhaella's jaw, that curve of bone so purposefully carved by the gods ⸺ so dutifully an echo of their mother. her forehead comes to rest on the swell of her sister's until they are pressed together, an image refracted. "aeryn is naejot se council sir. aderī mirre se dārion kessa gīmigon zȳha sȳz muña iksis morghe. īlva muña²."