The Gentle Wolf (Rhaegar Targaryen)

Chapter 7

6- Melantha

Melantha slept straight past sunrise, all the way till midday, and only awoke because a maid had been sent to help her dress and take her to the Queen's chambers.

Both women hurried through the process, Melantha's fighting back her heavy eyelids and her body, which begged her to return to bed.

She had left the feast earlier than she probably should have, making up a poor excuse she couldn't remember. When she had arrived back to her chambers, her head was pounding and her back was killing her.

The moment she laid down on the bed, the pain on her back got worse before getting better. She soon realized she hadn't visited a Maester yet to ask for something to alleviate her headaches, but she had already pulled herself free from the dress and she didn't have the energy to get dressed once more and go looking for a Maester. Instead, she convinced herself that the pain was not so terrible and eventually fell asleep.

Her head and back didn't hurt anymore, so Melantha supposed things could be worse.

Her stomach grumbled as she left her rooms, quickly following the maid across corridors, down and up stairs, taking turns here and there, until they finally reached the Queen's private chambers inside Maegor's Holdfast.

"Your Grace, Lady Stark." The servant introduced her.

"Thank you, Phelia. You may leave us."

Melantha looked to the side to see Queen Rhaella emerging from a room adjacent. Melantha faced her before performing her courtesy.

"I apologize for my delay, Your Grace."

"You're not late at all, child." The Queen came to a stop before Melantha, looking her up and down with a warm yet appraising eye. "You're pretty in every light it seems; my son is very lucky."

Melantha smiled.

"Thank you, Your Grace. You're quite delightful to the eye as well, if I may be so bold."

The Queen laughed, a sound so nice to the ears that it warmed Melantha and made her feel almost safe.

"You may, child. I'm afraid I don't hear such compliments so often anymore, so I may ask you to stroke my ego from time to time."

"That shouldn't be a problem; in any case, apparently I'm known for my honesty."

The Queen was still smiling at her. Melantha actually thought herself to be a decent liar, but she was telling the truth at the moment. Queen Rhaella was a beauty. She was as tall as her son, and her figure limb and elegant. She looked older than she was, but Melantha figured a lifetime next to a king such as her husband would do that to anyone. Her silver hair looked almost alive as it sat atop of her head, twisted in complex braids; Melantha couldn't make sense of where one started and the other ended, and had it not been considered rude, she would've spent an entire day and night trying to figure it out. The Queen's eyes were like amethyst, and although they showed the same kindness as her son's, there was also something dark in them, trying to surface and kill whatever remained of the young maiden the Queen once was. Melantha didn't allow her eyes to linger on the marks upon her body though, despite her inviting curiosity and ever growing concern.

The Queen stepped forward and took her hands. They were soft and gentle and warm.

"Honesty can be a double edged sword, child. You will be Rhaegar,'s wife, and I pray you will have a long and happy union. My son will need someone who can be honest with him where others may tell him whatever he wishes to hear just for the sake of his favor."

"Pardon me, Your Grace, but what of my favor?"

The Queen didn't seem to take offense to her question; if anything, she looked understanding.