Rogue | Daemon&Rhaenyra

2.0

" Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

It is Daemon whom first steps forward, his forehead touching Rhaenyra's as they both still mourn the loss of Lucerys. The Queen looks as though she didn't sleep the entire time she was gone. Her hair is deshelved and her eyes are red and swollen.

" Your council stands at the ready, Your Grace. I will fly to Harrenhal at your command and set our toehold in the Riverlands."

" Your Grace, my lord husband's blockade of the Gullet moves into place. All seaborne travel and trade to King's Landing will soon be cut off."

But Rhaenyra pays them no mind. She simply walks to the head of the painted table, her hands clutching onto a cloak that she won't dare to let go of. She speaks nothing other than four simple words for the first time in weeks.

" I want Aemond Targaryen."

It's all that Daemon needs to hear in order for him to set his plan in motion. Saerra holds her daughter's hands, her eyes searching for Rhaenyra's, but they never meet. Rhaenyra is too quick to depart, as is Daemon.

Saerra follows her darling wife into her chambers, leaving the daughters with a nanny as a wife goes to console her own wife.

" Rhaenyra," Saerra whispers, her voice soft and gentle as she watches the woman on the verge of yet another breakdown," Rhaenyra please."

" There is nothing to say," Rhaenyra utters, her voice cracking under the weight of her grief as she finally turns around," He's dead."

" I know," Saerra nods as the salty tears return to her eyes," The sun will never shine again."

" He was just a boy," Rhaenyra cries," And they killed him."

" Aemond killed him," Saerra corrects as she steps forward, trying to be strong no matter how much her body calls on her to break," There will be justice."

Rhaenyra's shoulders shake with the force of her sobs, and she clutches the cloak even tighter, as though it is the last piece of Lucerys she can hold on to. Saerra steps forward, her heart breaking anew with each of Rhaenyra's cries. She places a hand on Rhaenyra's shoulder, feeling the tension and grief coursing through her wife's body.

"Rhaenyra," Saerra whispers again, her voice a soft plea for connection.

Rhaenyra turns to face her, her eyes swollen and red, her face streaked with tears. Saerra reaches up, gently wiping the tears away with her thumbs. For a moment, they simply stand there, their foreheads touching, sharing their sorrow in a moment of intimate silence.

Saerra then takes Rhaenyra's hand and leads her to the large bathtub in their chambers, already filled with warm, steaming water. She helps Rhaenyra undress, her movements tender and reverent. Rhaenyra allows herself to be cared for, her grief making her pliant and vulnerable.

As they step into the water, Saerra gently guides Rhaenyra to sit, the warmth of the bath soothing their tired, aching bodies. Saerra sits behind her, slowly pouring water over Rhaenyra's hair, the action almost meditative. She carefully lathers soap into Rhaenyra's silver locks, her fingers working through the tangles with a gentleness born of deep love.

Rhaenyra closes her eyes, leaning back against Saerra, finding comfort in her wife's steady presence. The feel of Saerra's hands in her hair is calming, each stroke a reminder that she is not alone in her grief. Silent tears continue to slip down her cheeks, but they are now tears of release, a shared sorrow.