A Tale of Kings, Queens and Bastards

Chapter 10

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A fortnight had flown as quick as dragons could fly across Westeros —according to history books—, and Rhae couldn't have been happier. Viserys had loosened the reins on the bastard, his one and only thought being "his army" that the khal promised him nearly three months ago.

  The khalasar had travelled to the sacred city of Vaes Dothrak. It was unlike anything Rhae had seen on her travels across Essos before she and her siblings met Magister Illyrio.

  The two ginormous stone stallions that stood as grand as the mountains that surrounded the sacred city at the entrance, each one on their back legs, ears pinned and teeth bared.

  The bastard-dragon sat cross-legged by the dragon eggs, her own egg in her lap as she toyed with the necklace Doreah gifted her a fortnight ago. It was a beautiful small, light purple rock that shimmered in fire or sunlight, thin silver forged around it that kept it attached to the horse leather string around her neck —Doreah had told Rhae the rock was very rare and only found in Lys.

The gesture had made Rhae's little heart sore.

  "Do you think it will be a boy or a girl? I hope it's a girl."

  From the chair not far from Rhae, Daenerys sewed horse leather into clothes. She looked down at her sister, "I am sorry to disappoint, sister, but I think it's a boy. I told Drogo that as well."

  "Well, there's always next time, I suppose."

  Daenerys chuckled with a raised brow, "Is that so?"

Rhae hummed, "Yes. I like the guessing game."

  Daenerys smiled. "You can look forward to playing when you have your own children some day. I envision four children —three girls and one boy."

The bastard cracked a smile, looking into her sister's blue eyes, "What a descriptive guess."

"It's a guess, nonetheless," the khaleesi pointed out, to which Rhae merely hummed . . . she did have somewhat of a valid one.

  "Three girls and one boy, you say?" Daenerys hummed with a "yes". "That is quite a lot of children, Dany," the bastard chuckled. Rhae's never seen herself as "the mother type".

"You would make a wonderful mother, sister." Daenerys stopped what she was doing, arms resting on her legs with a fond smile. "Do you remember that boy in Tyrosh? He couldn't have been any older than five."

"I do. He lost his mother in the streets. I heard him scream and cry from our home five blocks away."

"Yes. And you comforted him, made him feel like his mother was at a nearby merchant's stall. You told him stories about dragons." Daenerys had a proud look on her face, "You have a natural maternal instinct, Rhaenys, even at seven."

  Rhae pondered on it with pressed lips. She remembered that day vividly.

  She had been on the balcony of their home, playing with a wooden horse Dany had gifted her some years ago, the age in the wood. She was on her toes, galloping the wooden horse across the railing.

Nine-year-old Daenerys was inside, reading stories of old while keeping a close eye on the babe of the dysfunctional, outcasted family. And Viserys was out in the city in search of more supporters to his claim on the Westerosi throne.

  "—the Durrandon host conquered two hills. Argalic the Arrogant led a fourth charge that broke through the enemy centre and met Rhaenys atop Meraxes, grounded by the storm. She unleashed fire on Dickon Morrigen and the Bastard of Blackhaven, who commanded the Durrandon vanguard."