The Great Khalessi (GoT Fanfic)

12 - In the Wake of Ashes

Before they left the port, they held a solemn funeral for the queen. The funeral took place by the seaside, where the waves lapped gently against the rocky shore, a subtle reminder of the passage of time. All the lords of Dorne were present, standing in respectful silence to give homage to the late queen, Rhaella Targaryen. Though many harbored private opinions about the Targaryens and their rule, they kept their reservations hidden. Dorne had greatly benefited from Elia's marriage to Rhaegar, and for that, they honored the queen, even if their loyalty to House Targaryen had long started to wane.

The morning sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon, casting a golden glow on the sea and the funeral pyre. The sky was painted in soft hues of pink and orange, and the air was filled with the salty scent of the ocean. Rhaella's body lay upon the pyre, her face serene in death, surrounded by everlasting flowers that bloomed with delicate whites and purples, their fragrance mingling with the sea breeze. Around her stood the remaining Targaryen children and grandchildren, cloaked in the somber shadows of loss. Elia shed silent tears, her face turned toward the sea as if drawing strength from its vastness.

Viserys stood apart from the others, his hands clenched into fists as he stared at his mother's lifeless form. "Mother is really gone," he whispered to himself, disbelief clouding his pale violet eyes.

He couldn't accept it. When they were in Dragonstone, his mother had been vibrant, strong enough to scold him for his behavior, berating him for being difficult with the servants. Now, she was cold ash. He did not want to believe it. He didn't want to leave Dragonstone in the first place. He especially didn't want to be here in Dorne, engaged to his niece, who was tainted with Dornish blood. It was an insult to him who was a full fledged Targaryen prince.

"We should have stayed in Dragonstone," Viserys muttered under his breath. His thoughts turned venomous as his eyes flickered over to Rhaenys. That mongrel. He refused to believe the whispers about Princess Rhaenys being a real dragon, no matter what his mad father had decreed. Her skin was too dark, her hair too red. She was no dragon—just another tool in Dorne's scheme to tie themselves to Targaryen blood. Now that his brother Rhaegar was as good as dead, Viserys was sure it was all a ploy from Dorne to strengthen their claim. Ser William had agreed with him. The Dornish had always been whores, borrowing power by crawling into bed with the Targaryens.

Suddenly, a sharp voice broke his bitter thoughts. "What the heck are you glaring at me for?" Rhaenys snapped, her words cutting through the quiet morning air like a dagger.

Viserys scowled in disgust. Her crude, unsophisticated words only solidified his belief. No true Targaryen would speak like that. Despite being raised in the same castle as him, she had no breeding. "You did this," Viserys spat, his voice low and venomous.

Rhaenys' eyes narrowed, her hands curling into fists. "Are you implying grandmother died because of me?"

Viserys sneered. "Oh, so you do have enough intelligence to understand my words. If we had stayed in Dragonstone, Mother's life wouldn't have been in danger. She wouldn't have been forced to give birth at sea."

For a moment, Rhaenys stood stunned, her face drained of color as the weight of his words struck her. She had known her little uncle had suffered from their family's madness, raised by a father who had fallen deep into insanity, but she hadn't realized how detached from reality he truly was. Her voice trembled with quiet rage. "You are just as mad as Grandfather."

"How dare you!" Viserys growled, his face twisting in fury. Several lords and ladies attending the funeral noticed the growing tension between the two. Their whispers buzzed through the air like agitated bees, but before Viserys could explode, Elia stepped forward, her voice cutting through the murmurs like a steady wind.