The Great Khalessi (GoT Fanfic)

19 - Exiled

Rhaenys had always hated funerals. The weight of grief, the smell of burning wood, and the finality of the flames—it all made her feel like she was suffocating. Viserys and Daenerys had never truly felt at home in Dorne. Despite the sun and the sands, their hearts remained tied to the legacy of their ancestors, to the blood of the dragon

They had all decided to respect their wishes and had arranged a simple, somber ceremony. The two were wrapped in fine cloth—red and black, the colors of their house—and laid gently upon the pyre. The flames consumed their bodies slowly, crackling softly in the cool evening air, until only ashes remained.

Rhaenys stood motionless, her face pale and expression hollow. She couldn't bring herself to believe that Daenerys was truly gone, the sweet girl who had barely lived long enough to know the world. And though Viserys had brought pain and trouble in her life, she couldn't celebrate his death.

The wind off the sea stirred, cool and salty, tugging at the edges of her cloak. The flames flickered, then began to die as the sea breeze scattered their ashes into the sky, mingling with the fading light of the setting sun. Still, she stood, unable to turn away, her heart clenched tight with grief.

At last, a tear slipped from the corner of her eye, tracing a slow path down her cheek. The weight of her failure pressed heavy on her chest. Rhaella's children were dead. The promise she had made to her grandmother—to protect them, to keep them safe—had been shattered like fragile glass.

"I'm sorry for failing you, Grandma," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the soft hiss of the dying fire. She clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms as a surge of determination rose within her. "But I promise you... I will avenge them. I swear it."

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The torchlight flickered against the stone walls of the dimly lit dungeon, casting long, dancing shadows. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, tinged with the metallic bite of blood. Ellaria Sand walked beside Rhaenys, her expression grim but composed, a stark contrast to the tension that radiated from her niece.

Ellaria had seen much in her life—war, bloodshed, the cruelty of men. As a general, she had commanded armies and fought battles, earning her place in the Dornish court despite her bastard birth.

Rhaenys had requested access to the prisoners from the Baratheon envoy, and Ellaria had granted it without hesitation. She had seen the cold determination in her niece's eyes, a fire that mirrored the sunburnt sands of their homeland.

They reached the cell. Inside, sitting in a corner with her red robes pooling around her like blood, was Melisandre of Asshai. The Red Woman's presence was still unsettling—

Melisandre spoke, "I knew you would come and find me. You must have lots of questions."

Rhaenys stepped forward, her voice sharp as a blade. "Then I'm guessing you already know what I'll do to you if you don't cooperate."

Melisandre smiled, her lips curling in a way that made Ellaria's skin crawl. "I will cooperate."

"I thought Robert and Stannis Baratheon are fighting each other. Was all that a ruse so they can attack Dorne?"

"Lord Stannis and King Robert are still at odds," she said softly, her voice like a hiss of steam, "but they agree on one thing—the Targaryens must be wiped out. Living male heirs who share Rhaegar's blood are a threat to their claim."

Rhaenys' fists clenched at her sides. Her eyes flickered with fury. "You said male heirs," she pressed. "Why would you have to kill Dany?"

But the Red Woman only smirked, her silence louder than any answer she could have given. The tension in the room thickened, and Ellaria felt a chill run down her spine. She watched Rhaenys, knowing the young woman was on the edge of something dangerous—something darker than she had ever seen before.