SICKLY AND SILVER | AEMOND

I.II

FEAST FOR
THE DRAGONS

SILENCE IMMERSED THE room illuminated by hazy, dancing flames from candles dripping with yellow-tinged wax as the Lords and Ladies alike observed the returning Princess in all her nobility; Otto was not considered new to the masses so they paid minimal regard to him. Innumerable mutely judged her — both favourably and spitefully — as she stood as the effigy of dexterity and properness: spine straighter than a pin, shoulders fixed back to elongate her svelte neck, eyes hinged on the head table, where her family sat gazing across to her. Glancing briefly, she drank in the palatial, cavernous Great Hall. The Iron Throne lay on the opposing side, atop a raised dais reached by two sets of wide steps of rough black stone — the floor was blocks of tremendous marble from contrastive stone. Overhead watching all was the vaulted ceiling, with impressive arches and columns.

Stationed beside the door, a juvenile cleared his throat prior to announcing out for all to hear, as if they were naive to who she was: "The Princess Rhaella of Houses Targaryen and Hightower, Daughter of His Grace The King; and Ser Otto Hightower, Hand of The King."

The throng rose to their feet, bowing as the Royal passed them.

A smile, giddy and bright, etched slightly across her face, swelling when she identified those dearest to her and moved steadily toward them. First, at the head of the table adjacent to the Iron Throne, was her father, King Viserys, wearing the seven-jewelled crown of Jaehaerys I, he looked certainly more decrepit but still had a jovial essence to him as his lips wound upwards; next was Alicent, her mother, seated beside her husband, of mousy locks and an emerald dresses, beaming brighter than the sun as her youngest daughter inched closer; on the opposite side of The King was The Princess of Dragonstone, Rhaenyra, the elder half-sister of Rhaella, she seemed fatigued, which the younger could not begrudge her seeing as only recently had she birthed Prince Joffrey, so offered no warming sentiments; Jacaerys and Lucerys, her nephews with strikingly dark hair and akin eyes, were beside their mother, the elder, who was mere moons older than Rhaella, lit up in the pale face when gazing at her, they considered one and other friends; and three additional children were on Alicent's side, though an empty wooden chair disconnected them, hair indistinguishably silver, which Rhaella knew post-haste were Aegon, Helaena and Aemond, all of whom held twinkles in their eyes as they gazed upon their dazzling sister.

"Ah!" Viserys, arising, exclaimed once Rhaella and Otto drew to the table and lowered subserviently, "it has been so long. Please come, sit, enjoy this feast held for you both." Obediently, the King's orders were heeded. Otto assuredly strutted to the seat alongside his daughter, who he had not seen in person since fetching her daughter those years ago. Rhaella, lacking her grandsire's self-assured nature, swept her inharmonious eyes over the bench holding a mammoth, hardly touched feast: where was most acceptable for the King's youngest issue?

In Oldtown during feasts — held sporadically and supremely throughout summertime — the silver-haired Princess was of the highest eminence therefore she would be by the side of her Great-Uncle Lord Hobert Hightower. However, now, she shared rank with several and was not the noblest. Slow steps led her to an uninhabited chair. Aemond — imminently noting the uncertainty spread across her features — benevolently pulled back the seat beside him. "Here, sister." Aemond lowly said, drawing minimal scrutiny as the sumptuous banquet persisted. Lightly and with tinted cheeks, Rhaella slipped her body into the seat and nodded gratefully. "I trust Oldtown treated you well, you certainly look to be in excellent health."

The relationship between Aemond and Rhaella was an instantaneous and recognisable one. Since her birth he adored her, treasuring her every deed and the foulest of moods dissipated in her presence; for as long as could be recalled, she clung to him and procured great comfort from him despite the fact he seemingly cared for no other. The airy, near-obsolete library was where time was customarily spent, shrouded by lofty shelves of ebony and daubed with dust, free to read from daybreak until twilight and debate to their hearts' content. It was unfeasible to ignore the sibling's cherished bond — its extent was uncharted, however.

"Thank you, Aemond, years have passed and the image I have of you is quite divergent to the one before me now," Rhaella remarked jovially — he matured in the face, granted his wispy white hair was much the same, as well as being head and shoulders above his younger self, he would soon be a man fully grown. "I expect the same is true for me."

The pair giggled, grins wider than the entire continent of Essos; slipping smoothly into the manor in which they acted years ago. It was as if no time passed, as though every day was spent in the company of the other.

Peering longingly, pure violet mingled with a parallel violet and jarring silver. Only Viserys broke the stare, scraping his chair legs on the floor causing Rhaella to wince, gold goblet engraved with a scene of dragons — one significantly larger than the other more agile one — raised. "To the youngest of my children, Rhaella Targaryen, the God's have blessed you these last years and I wish they do for the rest of your days. King's Landing missed your presence: intelligent and gentile. My Lords and Ladies, join me in raising a goblet in her honour." Goblets overflowing with ruby-coloured wine hoisted. Rhaella — sensing an abundance of eyes returning to her willowy figure — flushed and averted her gaze.

"To Princess Rhaella!" They all cried.

"To Ella," Aemond mumbled faintly, muttering a name the Targaryen girl in question had not heard in too long. It was rarely uttered and only by Aemond — who, as a child, bit a nursemaid that said the sobriquet leaving her bleeding and Queen Alicent infuriated. No one dared risk themselves so it was not spoken again. Rhaella, unable to remember the event, erupted with a kaleidoscope of butterflies each time she heard the velvety syllables in her little ears.

Not yet seated, Viserys lowered his chalice and continued: "As a gift for your forthcoming nameday," two men, who were identifiable as Dragonkeepers, entered carrying a steaming, metal cradle, "on the day you set off on your journey Dreamfyre lay a single egg. An egg I desire you to have and, upon its hatching, bond with the dragon."

Taken back by the kindness from her father, Rhaella's jaw slacked slightly as she swallowed deeply. Despite her Targaryen name and features, a dragon egg was never given to her as a babe, nor did she bond with any residing in the Dragonpit. Aegon cruelly joked at Rhaella and Aemond's expense for this, 'A Targaryen without a dragon isn't a real Targaryen,' he would say, sending the Princess into floods of tears and Aemond into a fit of rage. Perhaps, with age, he was less barbaric. Moreover, King Viserys was many things but being a good father to his and Alicent's children was not one of them. Neglected and overlooked were more common. Perhaps he had become more fatherly. "A most generous offering, my King," Rhaella, in clear words, responded, bowing her head, "which I willingly and gratefully accept."

I was wondering how everyone pronounces Rhaella's name. At first, I immediately thought it was 'ray-ella' but the more I thought about it the more it seemed like 'ray-la'.

Also, I wanted the clarify the ages. Rhaella was sent to Oltwown aged 7. She and Jacaerys are the same age: in Act I, they are 9 then age up to 15 for Act II.

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