Sweet obedience

Chapter One

Rhaella Velaryon sat quietly at her dressing table, combing through her long, silver hair and gazing out of the tall window, out across the cliffs of Dragonstone and the violent waves of the Narrow Sea. It was a gloomy day, the sky drizzling with rain and waves crashing down against the rocks with ferocity. But this seat was one of her favourite places on the entire island, she had spent many hours there in her bed chamber watching her dragon Viseria glide over the water, the tips of her emerald wings skimming the surface, as she hunted for fish or playing alongside the other dragons who also called Dragonstone home. The She-Dragon was impressively large for her age, having hatched as Rhaella herself was brought screaming into the world- all of ten and six years ago. It was tradition for an egg to be placed in the crib of every Targaryen child, but as Viseria had hatched upon Rhaella's birth, she instead had the hatchling dragon placed in her cot to keep her warm throughout the long nights. It was certainly unconventional, but Viseria guarded over her as if she were her own babe, and the bond that was born between the two was like nothing any Targaryen had seen before. She first mounted Viseria upon her sixth name day, a whole year younger than her mother had been when she had first rode Syrax; Rhaella had always been competitive, and somehow simply knew that Viseria would never let her fall. Ever since that first flight she had flown on Viseria every single day, regardless of weather, and it was clear from watching the dragon out of her window that she were thriving. Just that morning they had flown right around the island, stopping off on the beach to feel the sand between her toes and to let the emerald beauty hunt for her breakfast; she had even brought Rhaella back part of a sheep carcass, placing it gently at her feet and looking to her expectantly, but Rhaella had graciously turned down the offer in favour of the lemon cakes she knew were waiting for her back at the castle.
She smiled gently, before looking at her reflection in the mirror: and not much to her surprise there were the same soft features she saw in her reflection every day, full round lips; gently arched eyebrows; round eyes, such a deep shade of purple that they could be mistaken for brown from afar, but up close were rich and vibrant, an unusual shade that had not appeared in any Targaryen for a while; heavy dark lashes; and a sprinkling of pale freckles across her dainty nose, from all the time spent on dragon-back in the sun. Her mother had once told her such a beauty had never been seen in the world since Queen Rhaenys Targaryen, who lived almost a 100 years ago, but she was sure that every mother thought of their daughters just the same. Anyway, she'd much rather be remembered for her wisdom than her beauty, she was born beautiful through no reason of her own, but it was entirely up to her how she shaped her brain. It was up to her what she made of herself, and she had made herself into a weapon. She fully intended to use the wealth of knowledge inside her head to out manoeuvre her families' enemies, and use her mental prowess to be one step ahead of anyone who may pose a threat to Rhaenyra and her children.
Yet, she thought with a smirk, it didn't hurt to keep herself presentable, they never knew when they would get visitors from the mainland and when she would need to greet a potential suitor. So every morning she endured the torturously long routine that it took for her ladies to get her dressed, her hair pristine and her face made up to perfection. There was an art to looking effortlessly beautiful, as if she had simply woke up with a fresh rosy face and pulled on the nearest gown, and it was one she had been practising since she were old enough to understand her importance. To understand that she would be expected to take a noble husband, to cement her place as second in line to the iron throne and ensure their claim was strong- and further heirs would certainly help. She had flowered several years ago, and knew it wouldn't be long before she would be expected to wed- she just knew her mother wanted to keep her close for as long as possible.
They were inexplicably close, she and her mother; Rhaenyra had called her the love of her life, her first born child whom she loved more than she ever thought possible. A small perfect creature she had wanted to coddle and protect from the expectations of the world, protect from the curse of being born a girl in a man's world. She had braided her long, wavy hair for her every single day, not wanting anyone else to touch her perfect silver locks, but eventually she realised she simply didn't have the time, not alongside looking after her young ones with Daemon, and reluctantly relinquished this job over to Rhaella's ladies.
She smiled at the fond memories, knowing one day she would do the same with her own children.
Rhaella dabbed a small amount of her favourite lavender oil on her wrists, behind her ears and upon her neck, and then set off from her chambers to break her fast with her family.
Dragonstone was a vast fortress, set atop a treacherous island, and she thought that her ancestors who originally built the castle could perhaps have made it a little more... comfortable. A ghastly wind swept through the long stone corridors, from the windows that looked over the sheer cliffs and crevices of the coastline, which made her wrap the white shawl around her shoulders tighter. Rhaella wore white often, it both complimented her complexion and gave off the impression of purity. When she wasn't wearing their house colours, she often opted for white. She could feel goosebumps all over her tanned skin as she walked through the castle, and hoped that once she made it to the main hall that a fire had been lit. Despite growing very fond of Dragonstone since they made it their home almost 6 years ago, she did miss the warm weather of the capital and the sun that shone almost every day. She had never quite agreed with the colder climate, her ladies often had to wrap her in fur blankets at night, and sometimes she even crawled into bed with her younger brother Joffrey for the extra warmth of another body. She would hold him close and fall asleep with her arm wrapped over his small body. Jace and Lucerys were too old for that now, and would be embarrassed just at the thought of their older sister coddling them, but Joff was still very much a boy, and she treasured his innocence whilst he was still so young and sweet and knew no better. He had no qualms with her making her way into his chambers on the colder nights, and sometimes when the thunder outside was especially loud he even sought her out in her rooms for comfort.
Her brothers would always be the most important people in the world, she had watched them all grow up, watched them take their first steps, mutter their first words, watched as their dragons hatched in their cribs. She'd even helped look after little Aegon and Viserys, her mother's son's with Daemon, who shared her silver hair- and often made her wonder if Laenor was in fact her father. She had of course heard the rumours of her brothers, and how many believed they were the bastards of Sir Harwin Strong; her mother had once all but confirmed it, but since then Rhaella had never thought too much of it, they shared her Targaryen blood regardless of whom their father was, they were the blood of the dragon as much as she were. Yet, she had also heard the rumours of how her mother in her youth, before she had wedded Laenor Velaryon, had escaped down to the street of silk and had 'dalliances' with her uncle, the man who would one day be her husband by the old tradition of Valyria. Daemon Targaryen. Rhaella had in fact been born early, which by the opinion of the grand maester was entirely unusual for a firstborn child. She didn't think it mattered now, who her father was- Laenor, Harwin or Daemon. Laenor was dead, murdered the night of Rhaenyra and Daemon's wedding, and even before then he had had little interest in her, she wasn't a boy, she didn't play with swords and play at war, she studied it of course, but Laenor had always been more interested in spending his time in the courtyard, not the library. She hadn't shed tears when he died, not in the way that her cousins, Baela and Rhaena, cried when their mother passed. In fact she had never truly cried at all, the closest was when she had heard of Sir Harwin's passing, and she saw the grief across her mother's face. Her brothers were to young to truly grasp the implications, and perhaps the reason for which he died, and she was glad for it, and she was glad they gained Daemon in his place. No she had never truly cried, not even when her Uncle Aemond had gone to hit Jace with that rock, right after he stole Vhagar. She had simply felt fury, a fury that she had never felt before and has never felt since. It was in that moment she understood why they were the blood of the dragon, that they were indeed more like dragons than men. Before she could extract her vengeance, Luke had taken Aemond's eye, and thereby saved her from doing the deed herself. No man would lay a hand on her family without feeling her wrath, that was a promise she had made that night. She hadn't seen her Uncle since their time on Driftmark all 6 years ago, and if she didn't see him for another 6 that would still be too soon. She hated him, and she knew it was not proper for a Princess to use such words, but she did; she truly hated him and what he had said to her brothers, what he had broken in them by muttering the word 'bastards'. She would break something if his one day, she just didn't know what.
Most people would only ever see Rhaella Velaryon as a gentle, soft Princess, and they would be lucky to avoid the true fire that burned inside her. She had kept that submerged since Driftmark, and she doubted even her mother knew such fury existed inside of her. In truth, it frightened her; all her life she had practised control, made sure to control every aspect of her being, and she dreaded to think what would happen if she let that slip, even once.
She pushed the thought away, knowing lingering on the past did no good, and found her signature smile as she made her way through the great doors into the hall.
All of her family waited for her, sat around the long table talking in whispers- as if there were something awful that had happened.
"Lentor" Family. Rhaella spoke in perfect High Valyrian, the language rolling off her pink lips as if it were her mother tongue- she supposed if another world it was, but there were only a handful of people in Westeros who spoke it fluently, her mother and Daemon being two of those. Her siblings weren't as well versed as she was, and so she reverted quickly back to the common tongue. "It is awfully quiet," she looked between her family as she took her place between Jace and Luke. Baela and Joff sat to one side, and Rhaenyra and Daemon across to the other. "Has someone died?" She raised an eyebrow, trying to break the unusual silence.
She was at least glad to feel the heat of the fire at the end of the room as she smiled to all of her dear siblings and cousin.
It was her mother who quickly responded, "we received a raven from King's Landing".
She felt a shiver run down her spine, this was certainly not a good message. "Gods, has someone actually died?" She suddenly felt quite awful for making such a joke.
Rhaenyra smiled weakly, not fooling Rhaella for one second, "no my sweet, not today."
She looked to Daemon, who held her mother's hand atop the table, but he kept his eyes on the plate in front of him.
She had grown close to Daemon during their time on Dragonstone, he had helped her with her Valyrian, raced her around the island on his dragon Caraxes, and despite her objections taught her how to wield a dagger- he said every Princess should know how to defend herself, especially his daughter. She had blushed at that, not quite realising he thought of her so strongly. It was then she realised, against every preconception she had of him, that Daemon made her feel safe, and she was glad that her mother had him by her side. They were good for each other.
"Well that is good, is it not," she tried to lighten the mood.
Less that a second later Daemon cut through all the small talk, he had never liked it much. "King Viserys has summoned you back to the Red Keep on the morrow, he has deemed it that you are a suitable age to be wed. He is inviting suitors to Kings Landing to vie for your hand in marriage, and wants you to have time to settle into the red keep before they arrive." Daemon lifted his head and stated plainly, he was clearly unimpressed with the King's choice of summons, but he didn't look surprised.
Rhaella sat back in her chair, that was certainly not what she had been expecting.
"Darling daughter," Rhaenyra gasped, her eyes almost filling with tears, but not quite- she must have sat with the news all morning, dreading the moment she had to bring it into reality. "I wish I could keep you here forever, but you are a beauty that the world needs to see, a beauty that needs to be seen to be believed."
"Mother," Rhaella smiled as well as she could, knowing what was to come next.
"At least you will have a choice, such as I did when I married your father." Rhaella wasn't sure which father she was referring to, Laenor or Daemon. "That is more than most can ask for," her mother finished.
"I knew this day would come." Rhaella was not stupid or privileged enough to believe she would escape the fate of every other noble born woman in this world. She knew she would have to marry, she had been preparing for it her entire life. "It was just always going to come too soon. I fear the hardest thing will be leaving you all."
Jace reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze, "We will visit, we can fly over on dragon-back. And sister, any Lord would be honoured to have your hand."
Rhaella smiled softly, "you must visit, your older sister demands it." she looked around the table, "I will serve our family dutifully, unite our bloodline with one of the great houses."
"Your obedience is admirable," Daemon smirked, knowing she was simply playing the part that she had trained all her life for, before his expression hardened. "But don't forget you are the blood of the dragon, you will bend these men to your will, remind them that one day you will be Queen, and they merely the consort to your rule."
Rhaenyra nodded approvingly, "you are the gem of the Seven Kingdoms, and the most valuable asset that everyone will want to possess. You must stand strong sweet girl, the Red Keep is full of vipers and we will not be there to protect you."
This was the third time in her life where she felt as if she could possibly cry, as she looked upon her mother's face and saw the concern in her eyes. She wanted to wrap her arms around her and tell her that she was going to be ok, that this is what she wanted: but Daemon was watching her, and she knew she needed to be strong and remain where she were. They didn't have the luxury of grand exhibits of emotion. They were above men, above the weak and meagre emotions that ruled them: or so she had been told.
"I understand," she nodded, as she pushed around the food on her plate with her fork. She had suddenly lost her appetite, even for her beloved lemon cakes. "I understand Cregan Stark is looking for a new wife, and the North would make a formidable ally would they not?"
Daemon narrowed his eyes, "Northmen are dull cunts, and you'd waste away up in the North."
"You underestimate me Kepa," She muttered the Valyrian word for Father, before speaking in her preferred tongue. "Nyke'd emagon nykeā kostōba warrior naejot bāne issa bed, īlva riñar would sagon āzma rūsīr perzys se suvion, se greens would qrugh pōntāla rūsīr zūgagon." I'd have a strong warrior to warm my bed, our children would be born with fire and ice, the greens would shit themselves with fear.
Daemon chuckled, "Aōha muñnykeā rattan kostōba vali tolī." Your mother liked strong men too.
Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at the comment, glad that her boys weren't fluent enough in Valyrian to understand her husband's snide remark. "Nyke could emagon aōha ēngos syt bona valzȳrys." I could have your tongue for that, Husband.
"Ao kostagon emagon issa ēngos tolī ābrazȳrys." You can have my tongue later, wife. Daemon replied crudely, making Rhaella wish she didn't speak Valyrian so damn well.
"We don't all speak Valyrian," Luke frowned, "what are they saying Rhae?"
Rhaella laughed, shaking her head in disgust, "you are too young and too innocent for such things, do not worry sweet Luke."
"I'm fourteen." He crossed his arms stubbornly.
"Yes, and as I recall don't you have training down in the courtyard?" She looked to their mother, sensing she wanted to discuss the King's message further with her only daughter.
"Your sister is right, off you boys go." She looked to their cousin, "Baela would you kindly escort your cousins to their training?"
"Of course," she bowed her head politely, and looked over to Jace expectantly. Rhaella wouldn't be surprised if the two were betrothed soon, they were already smitten.
Her parents waited in silence as her younger siblings left the hall, grabbing the remainder of their breakfast from their plates and stuffing the cakes into their pockets.
Once they were alone, she knew it was time to plan.
"What do you need from me?" Rhaella placed her hands atop the table, remembering how Daemon had told her not to fiddle too much with her fingers- it made her look nervous.
Daemon sat up straighter, his brow furrowing,  "To show the green cunts how exactly you and your mother plan to rule. With fire and-"
Rhaenyra interrupted her husband, shooting him a telling glance, "with wisdom, kindness, and responsibility. Your Grandsire once told me the importance of a Targaryen sitting the Iron Throne, and one day I will tell you. Our dragons are not weapons of destruction, they are symbols of our strength. And darling girl you will have to be stronger than ever before, because marriage is no easy task."
"Speak for yourself," Daemon smirked, "I've always been a natural."
"You have not." Her mother replied, "you are almost as unruly as your dragon."
"I have no doubt that I will make a suitable match." Rhaella stated firmly, she didn't want to make the process any longer that it needed to be. She doubted it would take her long to make her decision. "And I shall write to you if I need your advice, which I am sure won't take long."
"There is no rush," Rhaenyra nodded, "but make sure you show your grandsire and the greens that you are trying, that you are entertaining every option- no matter how foul these men may be."
Rhaenyra had warned her of men's ambitions, and she knew by now how to read people well
enough to discover their true motivations. Most would simply be after her power and her position in the line of succession, and she needed to know that their loyalty lay with her, not with their own self interest.
She couldn't be wooed by charming looks or smiled, she needed to be smarter than that.
"And you cannot fail," Daemon added severely, "the fate of your family may one day rest upon it." He was always melodramatic, but in this case she did indeed feel the weight of responsibility upon her small shoulders.
Rhaella nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat.
"I won't fail you," she stood up from her chair determinedly, "I never have."