𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐒𝐇
❝I would like to burn them to the ground and stand on their ashes.❞
in which the eldest child of viserys targaryen and aemma arryn is a little too violent, a little too wild, and a little too lost.
HOUSE OF THE DRAGON...
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THE SKIES WERE COVERED IN DEEP BRUISE-COLOURED clouds and rain battered against the stones of the Red Keep. In the past two days, Rhaenerys Targaryen kept between her room and Septa Morelle's room, where she continued her lessons. Her fingers were stained with ink in one moment then with a spot of blood when she accidentally struck herself with a needle while finishing her recent embroidery.
Septa Morelle would put down her own embroidery and sigh. "You have to be careful, Princess," she said with a shake of her head. "You want to wield a sword, but how can you do that when you cannot even hold a needle?"
Rhaenerys closed her hand around the piece of cloth she tried to embroider, staining the white with her blood. "A sword is different than a needle, Septa."
"And now you're staining it!" Septa Morelle grabbed the embroidered handkerchief from her hands and held it up in the air to look at the stain. It was a small red dot at the side of a terribly embroidered butterfly. Barely visible in the short distance between them. "Princess Rhaenerys, do you know how difficult it will be to get this stain out?"
Rhaenerys shrugged her shoulders. "You can throw it away." She looked down at the basket Septa Morelle had at the side of her chair, full of colourful threads and needles she used to create countless embroideries that were stored in a wooden trunk at the side of the room. Several of those threads had created pieces of her dresses she found most beautiful. The septa had a still hand that created countless beautiful things that adorned dresses and handkerchiefs, but Rhaenerys did not have the same steady hand or the patience to create such things.
She did not want to be stuck inside Septa Morelle's room, embroidering a piece of fabric no one would see or touch. What she wanted was to climb atop the Cannibal and fly above the clouds, where not even the rain could touch her. She wanted the hint of freedom the birds had, but that would be a lie. Not even birds had freedom.
Her mother kept songbirds in a golden cage in her room. She admired the birds, hummed to them as she sewed and fed them seeds to stare at them as they ate from her hand. Did they desire the freedom other birds had? Rhaenerys wondered if they too stared out the window of the room and wanted nothing more but to fly high above the clouds, where nothing could touch them.
"I will not throw it away!" Septa Morelle sighed and laid the handkerchief on top of the table at the other side of the room. "That is all right. We can get this bit of blood off with a bit of lemon juice and sunlight."
"Lemon juice and sunlight?" Rhaenerys stared at the septa with her face scrunched up.
She nodded. "When you become older, princess, you will come to understand that we women know several ways to get rid of bloodstains."
Rhaenerys's eyes opened wide. "Have you killed someone, Septa Morelle?" she asked, her mouth falling into a wide O. "Is that why you know how to get rid of blood from clothes?"
