Aella Targaryen wed on the anniversary of her father's death. To her cousin, nonetheless, continuing the long-standing tradition of her family to marry their relatives. It was a day that was meant to bring joy and overshadow the sorrow that had purs...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Her beauty, lithe, unholy, pure"
– Yvor Winters
°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°
"Aella, I need you to listen to me carefully." Rhaegon's voice brought her out of her dim thoughts. She lifted her eyes from her gloved hands – covered in lace instead of leather for the first time in years – and took in his face. The shape of it was just as she remembered. Of course it was, she almost laughed at herself. A few years couldn't change a person that much. Except that they could, for his dark violet eyes seemed even dimmer than before, and deep dark circles were painting his skin blue beneath them. At least his hair had grown out a little, curling around his ears in that boyish way she loved but he hated.
He was dressed in courtly attire, the black and crimson velvet and silk wrapping around his body perfectly, tailored without a fault. She drew her gaze over the silver embroidery – the dragon wings and scales and tendrils of flame. Her gown was of a similar design, though it was made of indigo and amethyst fabric instead. It made her look more girlish, more innocent, just as the cascading waves of silver hair did, only some of it held back by a silver comb and a string of pearls.
That was the aim, of course. The more innocent and ladylike she looked, the more likely Viserys and the court accepted her back without much complaint. They'd spent days at Dragonstone curating her outfit before Rhaegon finally deemed it good enough for her to sail to King's Landing. Sail, not fly, for that would remind the court of how she took off in the middle of the night to burn Triarchy soldiers in a war not sanctioned by the king.
Had she not understood the importance of her appearance, she might've been angry that Rhaegon dictated her clothing to her. But as she looked at him now, leaning back in the carriage that was taking them from the harbour to the Red Keep, she knew he was more unsure than she was, perhaps even a little scared. A wedding band glittered on his finger, just as it did on hers, and he twisted it around every once in a while.
"You must ask for forgiveness from Viserys. He will surely give it as long as you do not argue with him. Show that you regret it, that you're paying penance for your mistake," Rhaegon began, gliding the pad of his thumb over his forehead to smooth the worried creases, though it was in vain, for his bows furrowed again moments later. "Appeal to his sense of vanity, remind him that you only serve to please him and that your momentary lapse of judgement was only because you were worried for your dear brother-in-law and nephew, and that you couldn't possibly leave them to their peril without at least attempting to help."
"I know, Rhaegon," Aella sighed, gazing out the small holes in the side of the carriage. "We've been over this at least a dozen times. I will not fail, you needn't worry."
Rhaegon shook his head. "I always worry," he said with such an exasperated tone that she knew it was the complete truth. "But I need you to be ready, and not only for Viserys and his court of vultures." Aella grimaced but nodded anyway. She knew full well of what he spoke of. It drove a dagger into her heart to even think about it.
