❝With one eye a Targaryen violet and the other silver as the moon, she watched all and knew more. All of which she immortalised in bleeding black ink to be studied by the naive people of tomorrow.❞
Princess Rhaella, daughter of King Viserys I and Qu...
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THOUGH BORN THERE, King's Landing had not been Rhaella's place of residents for two namedays — instead, her life was in Oldtown, the ancestral seat of her maternal house, the Hightowers, who took her in as a ward. Her health, fickle as it was, caused her move to The Reach after a truly terrible fever, which rendered her immobile for weeks and nearly claimed her life. Grand Maester Mellos thought it best the young Princess spend time with fresher air, away from the strenuous court of her father. Reluctantly Queen Alicent agreed, convincing the King too; albeit it was fought against by Aemond predominantly, who loathed the idea of no longer having his sister by his side each day, and Helaena, who grew crestfallen upon discovering Rhaella, the sole person that listened to her queer, incessant rants about images that appeared to her, was to leave. Dejected herself at leaving behind her dear siblings and doting mother, Rhaella longed to return to the Capital as soon as she placed a delicate foot on the soil — which felt foreign and a far cry from the life she was accustomed to.
Moons passed in one of the grandest and most historic cities in Westeros — the same moon Aemond watched at night, mind consumed by the youngest Targaryen — permitting the silver-haired Princess to settle. The allure of Oldtown quickly ensnared: it was a labyrinth of wynds, crisscrossing alleys, narrow crookback streets, and markets; built-in smooth and glistening stone, with all its streets cobbled, which made them wet and slippery on a damp day — something Rhaella despised as her balance had abysmal moments because of it. Of the assorted bridges, stone were the most common, although some wooden bridges could be found if one knew where to look. The city itself was surrounded by colossal, thick, high stone walls, offering considerable protection to the King's daughter. Everlastingly, Oldtown smelt as flowery as a perfumed dowager — a scent that lingered long. Summers were incomparable — it steamed and sweltered during daytime but resurrected at night to be filled with flamboyant life. Foliage, also, bloomed at a staggering rate; from moonbloom and nightshade, to peaches, and pomegranates.
Oldtown offered more. The Citadel trained all Maesters, the Knights of the Mind. And — on the orders of The King, who was perused by The Queen, who had the idea proposed to her by Ser Otto Hightower — Rhaella studied under a group of dedicated Maesters. History, languages, navigation of the stars, healing, literature, foreign customs, and mythology were some of which were taught to the girl, who absorbed the knowledge at a terrific rate.
Had she been a man, she likely would have devoted her life as a Maester. Alas, the Gods were cruel enough to make her a woman, therefore not entitled to do so.
Receiving regular updates on her progress, Otto, a purposeful man, recognised the potential. Given the right motivation, her keen mind would play its role in preventing Rhaenyra from ascending the Iron Throne.
"Not long now, child," Otto stated after peering out the carriage led by four strong stallions to inspect King's Landing's imposing silhouette as it inched closer, "I expect we will arrive before nightfall. Perhaps the feast will be in the early stages when we greet His Grace."
