#rhcena

There were very few moments when Emeric found himself in situations he had not planned. Even fewer, ones where he did not know fix, and -- fewer still -- situations that resulted in himself and the Lannister queen sitting side by side in a little tavern not far off the King’s Road. Much to their aggravation and simple lack of luck, both of their travel parties had been robbed by the same set of unsavory thieves. With their horses stolen and their men dead, it had seemed the smart move to join one another on their long trek back to Sunspear. 

But it didn’t mean it was a pleasure.

The pair had gone from speaking nothing at all, to exchanging bitter insults, and had once more gone back to silence when they’d sat down at their table. Emeric’s face was dusty with sand, while Rhaena’s was half covered with a scarf. Both of them had traded in their finer clothes for those of the Dornish common folk, and both remained unrecognizable. When the bar maid returned to bring them their food, Emeric had been mid-drink, taking a long sip from his horn of ale. 

“Will you and your wife like some pie after you finish your meal?”

Emeric chocked on his ale, and to his left, Rhaena’s fork clattered onto the floor. “Travel companion,” Emeric rasped, his face twisting into a scowl. As if he could ever marry such a stubborn, pig-headed woman. She was likely having the same thought -- once she’d picked up her fork, she’d slammed it back onto the table. Emeric did the same with his ale, giving the Dragon Queen a long look before scoffing at the bar maid once more. “We are merely travel companions.” 

𝖌𝖗𝖔𝖜𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌   𝖘𝖚𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘.

FANDOM DRABBLE; @rhcena & falhar as students at hogwarts.

IRONFORGED CHARACTER MENTIONS: rhaena targaryen, falhar fanghorn, kyra baratheon, branden stark

HARRY POTTER CHARACTER MENTIONS: cho chang, roger davies, oliver wood, gregory goyle, professor trelawny

        “OH DO SHUT up, for merlins sake!”  he groaned to branden, cutting him off mid-lecture as their feet thundered along with the rest of the students towards the dining hall, “and would you please tell davies to cool his knickers, i’ll get him the quiddich plans after dinner.   i’m starving and i missed lunch, and i just spent two hours listening to trelawny babbling on about bloody tea leaves... she can barely read the paper, let alone some soggy grass.”  he fell into step with rhaena as he continued his train of thought,   “i don’t know why he’s so cranky with me all of a sudden, it’s not my fault that lumbering idiot goyle smacked the bludger into chang’s elbow and broke it - if it wasn’t for that, we’d probably have won. my plans were solid!”

    “WHAT ARE YOU talking about?  who’s cranky with you?” rhaena piped up, white hair tucked into her gold and maroon scarf, and falhar turned towards her as the trio entered the grand staircase and it began to move beneath them - crossing the expanse several stories above ground.  “davies, the ravenclaw quiddich captain.   he’s all shitty with me of late, i can’t think why.”  she laughed, and branden rolled his eyes at her, and kyra - another gryffindor standing in front of them on the stairs snickered as well.   falhar frowned at them both, eyes turning to his friend rhaena who was shaking her head at him and reached over to pat his shoulder in a sympathetic manner, which infuriated him, “what? do you know something?”

    “YES, YOU ABSOLUTE moron!   he found out you were consulting for wood on the plans for the gryffindor quiddich team.   we’re coming second behind you for the cup,” the targaryen explained, and falhar groaned; rubbing his hand over his face.    “you didn’t think it would stay a secret did you, fal?”  she teased, giving him a pitying look as branden, who was a chaser on their team, smacked him up the back of the head.  great, he thought, there goes my inside job.  he couldn’t very well shout out in his own defense that he was actually spying and making copies of match strategories to pass back to davies. especially not in the company of his best friend (well, friend/more?) rhaena and the gryffindor beater kyra, who whilst didn’t always get along as cousins, would both hurl him over the railing of the grand staircase for trying to do that to their house.

“Now, uh…*hic* yer grace. I would jus’ like to point out that while I did assume that your bedchamber was a privy…I did not actually use it as…a privy. I think you’ll find that I pulled my trousers back up very quickly. With great speed. And I’d rather not be beheadeded, if it can be avoided.” 

“Just once question my, your, my, your grace. Why are you getting so…blurry and…*hic* dark? Oh, wait. Beg pardon. Thass me. Nighty-night” 

*CRASH* 

……

*snoring*

the gardens of the red keep are, for sure, one of the most bearable places around king’s landing — the air still isn’t fresh, but at least the smell isn’t as bad as in any other place. not much has changed since he had been there, not on the outside at least. on the inside, on another hand…

ever since he had heard of the marriage of princess rhaena to a lannister, he couldn’t help but frown his nose upon it. he had met her in another times, whenever he stopped by the keep, the most recent being when he was to take his brother to the small council. back then, the princess was unmarried — and a good conversation they shared as he fairly remembers. things were good then, with the certain that the targaryen had the crown. in the present, however… he can’t help but feel his suspicions and defense from rising, even without his own knowledge.

it is hard not to recognize the woman ahead of him, and a bow soon follows once she notices him. “your grace,” he says with his ever so amused smile, masking his own tension at the encounter. “still as young as i remember. it’s an honor to be here.”

♣ - a fading memory

her mother’s eyes were green – not like the ones that looked at her when she looked at the looking glass, but softer, rounder, warmer. lady meera reed was soft all around, with a gentle smile and a womanly strength; there was little trace of the north in her, they said, and much less of the frog-eating people she had hailed from, if not by her small stature and those eyes of hers. she did not speak of her home much either – she was a girl, had just bled, when she first arrived to raventree hall – and, by next spring, she already had a child of her own. edmund took after his father on his height and stature, but there was a gentleness in his features that had unmistakably come from his mother.

melissa resembled her more, the blackwood staff would say from time to time. small yet feminine, the hair, the eyes – yet there was little to relate on her personality. lady meera had been demure, melissa was demanding, controlling, icy, louder and bolder. there was a strong attempt on shaping her after her lady mother, though. tighter, lady-like clothes, more indoors activities, child rearing. why aren’t you more like your mother? her septa would complain, and for the following moments the girl would harden in spite, doing what was expected of her with more grace and with growing contempt. 

at other times she recalled how her mother cared for them. how she read to lucas, stood by edmund in sickness, sang to roderick or held alyssa; when this happened, there were sincere attempts on mimicking the kindness her mother had, and the praises and comparisons would make the blackwood proud. 

but as the memories fades, frustration rises instead. if lady meera’s reign as lady blackwood had been unassuming and modest, her daughter’s had been commanding and proud, either that as the lady blackwood or as lady stark.

it’s no wonder she married into the north, melissa had heard on a visit to the crossing once, for she had icy water in her veins.

meera’s ghost had been carried to winterfell with her daughter, when she had her own children, in the moments of kindness and affection and in the moments of authority and of coldness – whenever she expected a child of her own, she looks at the birthing bed and sees her mother, lying cold and purple on blood stained sheets. 

when she was younger, she would look in the looking glass and sees the warm green-brown of her mother’s eyes, the gentle tug in the corner of her lips.