#caerella 002

the congratulations were said and done, congratulations on doing what human anatomy had made it possible for them to do; the dragon queen delivering a male heir to put an end to the tensions regarding the stormlands. an ugly name. they needed a thrashing, was her own personal opinion; an heir from a consort that could be deemed as nothing but a chess piece could be spun to mean little to nothing. 

ravella’s womb had quickened fast, a sign that the gods themselves were happy with her accession to the mountain throne: the elite of the vale knew they had a queen who focused on the strength of the realm. the old age needed to die in order for this new one to begin within the vale. weakness need be ripped out, root and stem.

“there is something i have been meaning to address with you.” ravella was never as close to caerella as her brother once was to her, and her brother too; the man had boarded on making himself a targaryen dog. there was nothing wrong with holding close associations between two realms, but there was no denying that rowan arryn had belittled himself. he was gone now, thankfully; perhaps the gods listened to her prayers after all. gods, or the devils. “i am sure you have heard of the tension within the north. it seems as though skagos has gained some support from my own subjects - the three sisters, specifically. they have been banned from trading upon the seas.” 

ships, building, alliances meant little to nothing if the line of succession was not clear. it was a queen’s job to conceive, before she thought of anything else - to do anything else was to be to her own detriment. now, she found herself sat opposite the dragon queen in this blasted reach hate, as suggested by caerella herself - naturally, dragons liked feeling as though they were being baked. or perhaps it was the swell of ravella’s stomach, months into her pregnancy at this point, beneath dark navy lace that made her uncomfortable.