INTRODUCING: Rhaella of HOUSE TARGARYEN, Princess of KING'S LANDING
* ♔ ◟ ( elizabeth debicki, twenty eight, female, she or her ) the capital of king's landing welcomes rhaella of house targaryen, the princess of king's landing. news borne by raven sends word that they are reputed to be spirited, but with the eyes of court watching their every move, they might prove to be ungovernable. when songs are sung, their verses speak of the beat of distant, large wings against the sky + the sound of merry pipes with a mournful edge + the smell of a summer storm rolling in. whispers throughout the seven kingdoms claim that their allegiance lies with the targaryens of dragonstone, where they conspire to hatch their dragon egg and find freedom. but in the end, fealty means little when you play the game of thrones. ⸻ kestrel, thirty+, pst, she or her.
BASICS.
full name: Rhaella Targaryennickname: n/a. title: Princess of King's Landing age: twenty-eight. gender & pronouns: cis woman & she/her. orientation: heterosexual.allegiance: house targaryen. spoken languages: High Valyrian, Westerosi common. religion: unsure. familial relations: House Targaryen members. relationship status: engaged (and unhappy about it).
Rhaella was born a beautiful, fragile-looking child with the classic Targaryen looks. Her delicacy did not go away as she aged, and the assumption was that she would take to the womanly arts readily and joyfully. Instead, the opposite happened, and Rhaella bloomed into a wild child, the kind who wanted nothing more than to pick up a sword, even as she was simply not built to hold on. Her fair skin was constantly bruised and scratched and her hair wild, and she soon grew gawky as it became obvious that she would be tall for a woman, though without the muscle necessary to be the Visenya she so badly wanted to be.
The Red Keep brought a pleasant childhood, especially for a princess, and with the backing of both the Lannisters and the Targaryen, Rhaella wanted for little other than a different body and a different fate. With time, she was tamed as much as she ever could be; she wore no swords or armor, though she demanded to at least learn how to shoot a bow, and she could be wild on a horse. Still, she learned to say her graces, to be polite and well-spoken (though whether or not she learned when to actually apply those skills is debatable.)
Always, the Targaryens of Dragonstone loomed in her mind. Rhaella was jealous of them- they lived in the family home, and they had DRAGONS, a gift not granted to her. Her high Valyrian could be flawless, but that would not grant her the knowledge and life she so truly wanted, away from the court and towards the sea, towards some ancestry left behind in Valyria. She remained somewhat clumsy and gawky, never quite growing into her own body, even as an adult.
Tensions increased as the years went on. Her mother was merely regent. Sooner or later, another monarch would be crowned. Her father wanted her brother on her throne, her mother faithful to the laws of the land- and Rhaella was too. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her brother, but he was not heir and not groomed to it the way her cousin was. Yet Rhaella was also shockingly naive to politics; why could they not simply all agree and be done with it? One prince was as good as the other. It wasn’t as if they debated between a woman or a man, which may stretch her loyalties.
But most important to her was the dragon egg she was finally granted on her engagement to Lord Tyrell. Her freedom lay in hatching it; if she had a dragon, the marriage could somehow be wriggled out of. With no desire to have her life used as a political pawn, Rhaella looks towards Dragonstone to bargain for the life she has always wanted, where she can be as high-spirited as she wanted, as wild as anyone could allow a Targaryen to be. Her blood runs out, but it may be that the realm’s runs hotter.
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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 ? ❞
closed starter for ... rhaella targaryen @drcgonblooded .
In lieu of worrying about her mother's death and its causes, Rhaella turned to her egg. It was steadier ground, and something she could at least control by an application of heat and her own voice. Now more than ever, she needed the sign she was a real Targaryen. It might be some kind of guidance, something that could point her in the right direction. Although Rhaella was a princess, she was not used to having so many eyes on her own opinion of something political. Mostly, she thought of her role as to be there and make the house look good, not as a political entity in her own right. Things had changed overnight.
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.
"What have your dreams said? Hopefully somethign good." Please, something good. Something filled with wisdom.
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.
his eyes crease ever so slightly with a smile, nodding in response to her words. he suspects them to be honeyed, in parallel to his own, and that amuses him greatly. targaryens may not be as resistant to bonds as their beasts are. " i could not agree more, princess - what would others say if you were to upstage the king's own coronation ? " another olive branch thrown for mercy, yet teasing in nature. he goes to hammer another nail in his coffin, " i am a patient man when it comes to you, i would wait lifetimes. " not really, but the sentiment sounds nice.
It seemed Rhaella could not shrug away her bethrothed so easily. The Tyrells would not have maintained status as Lords Paramount if they were weak-willed, but a woman could dream. Just as she could dream that Highgarden was so close that it would not take weeks to get there and weeks more to get back. Ravens flew swiftly, but horses and wheelhouses were far slower. If ever urgent word came to Rhaella, by the time she was able to get to King's Landing, whatever was wrong would have passed, for good or ill.
"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?
"My lord does me a kindness," she began, her words not as honey-smooth as she wanted. "But you do not know me. Is Targaryen madness such a gift?" There. Now she could know how he felt about her, and about her family in general. As inconceivable as it was to her that some might dislike them, perhaps it was worth finally admitting.
"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. ❞
would she notice that he's held his tongue on all talks to do with their cousin ? he hoped she wouldn't. the further both rhaella and visaera stayed away from this mess, the better. they did not need charity. they needed security⸻assurance, immutability. they could not bank their lives on possibility. as the eldest, it was his duty to see this through. his burden to shoulder, even if it would crush him.
"I'm allowed to be maudlin," Rhaella protested. "First everyone complains that I don't take things seriosuly. Then they complain that I am too sad." Was now a time to make jokes? Hardly, but it made Rhaella feel slightly more comfortable to inhabit her own skin like that, and grateful to Aeryn that he could understand her in such a fundamental way. If only she could say the same, but parts of her brother remained a mystery to her.
"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.
After all, their cousin would be king. He held power over them, and though Rhaella could not imagine him abusing it, it was good to be aware of that. "Do you think the small council will have him wait to be crowned, or push forward immediately?" Was she also aware that there were those who said the crown should lay on Aeryn's brow? Of course. But she did not wish so heavy a chain around his neck.
The joust awakened something in Rhaella that she did not like to share with others. It was a flashback to her younger self, but was it also a legacy of a tainted bloodline?
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.
"Lady Estermont. Have you given your favor to anyone on the field today?" That was the type of thing that women asked each other, wasn't it? Not if they thought every scarlet drop looked like a jewel, or if they hoped for more violence and less spectacle. Rhaella would never be a knight, but she could not hide from herself.
@g0ldensaints
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 ? ❜
"I did not think a Harlaw would be interested in our little joust." From what Rhaella knew, the Ironborn were not much for pageantry like this, nor were they much for events that called to mind the classic virtues of knighthood. They were a people of sea and ships, not horses and land, and though raids on the coast were supposedly a thing of the past, they were all she pictured when she closed her eyes. But the Estermonts lived on the coast too. A little island, actually, if her memory served her correctly. She liked their sigil.
"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.
"We could give the ships small cannons. Just enough to blow good holes in the sides of a boat. Maybe each boat could contain three or four men." Now that was a more interesting conversation.
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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.
one look at their father was cause enough for it. bloodshot eyes and disheveled robes, an ambient twitch in his posture and wringing hands. he should've told lymond to stay behind. but that may have been worse for the lord hand, and if aeryn was anything in this world, he was his father's son more than his mother's. he gave rhaella's hand a gentle squeeze. ❝ aōhys zaldrīzes rōvēgrie se gevie kessa, gīmin, hāedus. ❞ a reassurance rhaella surely didn't need. sometimes he wished he could be more like her. but this was the sort of encouragement expected of him, was it not ?
"All three of us could leave, if we so chose. Let the burden of kingship rest on our cousin's head. We can support him, but we do not need to be tied to King's Landing for the rest of our lives." It sounded so simple when Rhaella put it like that. They couldn't leave; not so easily. They were still a prince and princesses, and their lives were bound to the Targaryen tapestry, as much as she might wish for something else. But it was nice to dream, and she wished for her brother to look just a little lighter. Grief made both their faces too long and drawn. Aeryn held her up so often; if only she could do the same.
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.
"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.
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 ? ❜
"I did not think a Harlaw would be interested in our little joust." From what Rhaella knew, the Ironborn were not much for pageantry like this, nor were they much for events that called to mind the classic virtues of knighthood. They were a people of sea and ships, not horses and land, and though raids on the coast were supposedly a thing of the past, they were all she pictured when she closed her eyes. But the Estermonts lived on the coast too. A little island, actually, if her memory served her correctly. She liked their sigil.
"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.
"We could give the ships small cannons. Just enough to blow good holes in the sides of a boat. Maybe each boat could contain three or four men." Now that was a more interesting conversation.
closed starter / with rhaella targaryen ( @drcgonblooded ), the day after the funeral somewhere in the red keep.
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. "
If Rhaella could avoid the heir Tyrell for long enough, maybe he would eventually leave. Grief was a good a reason as any to postpone a wedding; how could she be expected to be a blushing bride when she had to honor her mother's legacy? The thought of trying to make a celebration in the midst of all that was happening made her slightly ill.
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."
"skoros cries pōnta utter kessa sagon qrimbughetan ondoso se brōzas syt iā arlie bartos gōvilagon se pāletilla.¹" visaera tenses her jaw as grief cuts jagged in her mouth, blood left to sit in the answer. a partial truth sharpened by hurt into a fine point: their loss would be drowned by the rise of a man. be it brother or cousin, this is the fate left to a princess, a dragon of her own accord. scales turned into pavement for another crowning. visaera turns, runs a shaken hand over her mouth, the pain too acute to sit. "daor ziry. dōrī ziry. zirȳla body mērī²." lilac eyes bore the stone floor, her heart beating a sluggish pace. the world slowed, brought to a still. in the moment of stasis visaera sinks, brought down to the silt: into the dirt of the rumourmongers. the filth is already under her fingernails, drying. hardening. " ━━ emagon ao ryptan skoros vestrasis hen kepa?³"
"They are vultures." Rhaella switched back to the common tongue, because vitriol sometimes sounded better that way, because she did not wish to sully the musical sounds of high Valyrian with her own ire. "They circle and circle, but mother always made it clear who the heir was." That was how simple it was, at least in Rhaella's mind. It did not occur to her that Aeryn might want the crown, or that their father might push for it. She had only the vaguest notion that her arranged bethrothal was political in nature.
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?"
Blood boiled. If only she could be the type of person to act. If only she was not so naive, so passive... Her fingernails dug into her palm and left crescent moons behind.
"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."
but she is here and he won't dare to deny her conversation, so he replies. "i wouldn't call it mundane." he tries to be careful of his words, lest he upsets her. "but i don't think anything can compare to the sea. but of course, i'm a man raised on ships, so i don't think i'm suited to evaluate such a city." he smiles at her. "are you enjoying your time here, my princess?"
Sometimes Rhaella wanted to remind people that she had a name and not just a title, but she had to at least attempt to be on her best behavior for the duration of the events. Sit politely, look at the person she was speaking with and not over the horizon. Yet she couldn't resisting letting one hand dangle in the water, even when she knew it was filthy beneath the veneer. There was a childish glee in feeling it flow past her fingers. It was not often that she got to enjoy something like this; her life was in the Red Keep for the most part, and not the city below.
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.
"Your keep is on the sea, isn't it? Tell me about it. I feel like I've seen so little of the world that I'm expected to know so much about." Her tone was imperious without meaning it; Rhaella was used to being a princess, and too used to having her whims indulged. "When it storms, can you hear the waves on the walls?" She could picture stone being eaten away by centuries, winter storms that created a force enough to send in salt spray through the windows. Pure fancy, but a nice one.
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watching the parade of lords before his departed mother, standing to the right of princess rhaella ╱ @drcgonblooded
❝ 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 ?
aeryn always tried to stand taller when he was beside rhaella. it was as much for her as it was himself, a declaration of protection and history ( i am still your big brother in all ways that count, you can use me as a shade, as a pillar, as whatever you need ), an insistence that time alone is not enough to force change. he could still carry her on his back, aeryn was sure. though, perhaps, now was not the time nor place. feeling his sister shift at his side, aeryn tilted his head toward her. ❝ dekossa avy ōdris ? aōhi vumbiarzī āmāzigon jaelā ? ❞
Rhaella felt soft next to Aeryn, a creature of locked-away rooms and femininity. It was not a good feeling; she wanted to feel steel, that inner fire that Targaryens were supposed to have. Her callouses were few and far between, and she had no sword. It would be nice to feel one on her hip, though it would be purely ceremonial; she had long since given up ever learning. That was not her lot in life, and after having spent so many of her young adulthood years mourning it, part of her had moved on at last. But now she wanted something like it to guard her against her own emotions. Instead, she took her brother's hand in her own and took what she could from him, because at least he made sense in a world that had otherwise ceased to do so.
"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.
"Skori nyke kipagon iā zaldrīzes, kesan henujagon pōntoma inkot ." When I ride a dragon, I will leave them all behind.
CLOSED STARTER ━━ in the stone halls of the red keep as the prince makes his way to the great council, a home now dyed a deeper colour: that of a mother's blood. for princess rhaella targaryen @drcgonblooded
"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."
Empty. Rhaella no longer knew what to feel, except that every time she thought of it, she wished to ask her mother for advice. An impossibility now. She looked at her sister, felt Visaera's hand on her jaw, and saw only a reflection of the blood of the dragon they shared. "Se jāhor pōnta ilimagho rūsīr īlva?" And will they mourn with us? It was easier to say things in their second tongue. It was a language meant for heightened emotions. Visaera and Rhaella did not touch like this. Not normally. "Ziry daor sagon morghe. Ziry istan daor bona nākostōbā." She cannot be dead. She was not that weak. But she was, she had been, and Rhaella knew it. Denial was familiar and comforting though.
who was seated beside you during the feast and was conversation made with them ?
I was seated next to my brother, the prince Aeryn Targaryen, and the rest of our family. I threw food at him when no one else was looking because I could not stand how solemn the air was. We didn't make much conversation though. What words were there to say?
at what hour did you leave the feast ? were you alone or did another accompany you ?
I stayed until near the end, as was my duty as a member of this family. One of the household guards accompanied me, but I'm afraid I have no one else, as juicy as a rumor as I'm sure that would prove. In the future, I will endeavour to make sure to always bring a companion with me as I go to bed. I'm sure that will solve any problems.
did you hear or witness anything suspicious regarding the princess regent or the royal family ?
Only the usual gossip that might happen at an event like this. I truly do not know who would wish to hurt my mother. What would that accomplish? What did it? She did nothing wrong. She is... She was a good woman. A good regent. A good mother.
The joust awakened something in Rhaella that she did not like to share with others. It was a flashback to her younger self, but was it also a legacy of a tainted bloodline?
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.
"Lady Estermont. Have you given your favor to anyone on the field today?" That was the type of thing that women asked each other, wasn't it? Not if they thought every scarlet drop looked like a jewel, or if they hoped for more violence and less spectacle. Rhaella would never be a knight, but she could not hide from herself.
@g0ldensaints
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Rhaella had never seen the Blackwater so tame. Even the stench was gone, a fact she only noticed for its absence. She had long since gotten used to King's Landing's various smells, though whenever she went away and came home, they struck her again. But now the river was set up for a pleasure cruise, all the barges that would carry the nobles as pretty as a painting, the markets on the banks perfect in their offerings. Though she was no great observer of the smallfolk, Rhaella felt certain that there used to be villages and small homes where some of the stalls now were. It was very kind of the people who lived there to give up their homes to entertain them all.
Her duty that day was to entertain and to look pretty, as it would be for the entirety of this nonsensical event. It was only now that she was in the thick of it that it struck her as unfair; she was a Targaryen, and she aspired to be more than a gently smiling face. Captivity never sat well with her, and while she was no sailor, it seemed as if it would be far more fun to plunge down the wilder parts of the river, the breeze taking her hair and turning it into a wild nest.
At the very first stop their little fleet made, Rhaella left the royal barge for another, filled with nobles she did not know particularly well. Her eyes sought out heraldry and house colors, and lit upon a man that she couldn't say she had ever met. 'Lord... Farwynd? What a great pleasure it is to meet you. How do you find King's Landing?' It was a guess, based on a few factors, but Rhaella remembered the Farwynds from her lessons because everyone said they were a bit... strange.
"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.
The procession of nobles felt endless. Some of them were familiar faces to Rhaella, others only names learned during lessons when she was a child. It was strange to be up there with her siblings and cousins and without her mother, who looked concerningly frail earlier that day. The might of house Targaryen rested on five young shoulders, and now it was up in the air.
It was a relief when it was over and they broke for lunch. It was a simple, casual affair that left Rhaella free to mingle as she might desire. The air outside was pleasant, especially compared to how stuffy it had been within the throne room. Even the highest ceiling could not compete with so many human bodies in a single space. They should have held the gathering at Harrenhal, for all that it was a ruin. At least it was a large one.
Too unsettled to eat, Rhaella drifted amongst the crowds. When it was necessary, she stopped for a few moments of polite conversation before she moved on. Clad in Targaryen black and red, there would be no avoiding who she was.
A familiar face. Though she was no political genius, Rhaella wanted to test the waters. "Lord Hightower. How do you find our humble offerings?" Humble was certainly not the word for any of it.
"Have you come to lend your voice to my dear family?" And to which side? Her cousin, or her brother?
@melicos
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