There were two babes in the Tower of Joy.
Two babes tied so closely to their parents, Ned had to make the decision.
One with hair like raven feathers, eyes as grey as steel, and a face of a true Stark. The other, with hair like moonlight, eyes lik...
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It was the day of the public trial, and Rhaenar had never felt more sick; her hand covering her mouth as she paced the stone floor in her boots. The click of the heels were soothing to her, the rhythmic tap of them as she went soothing her erratic mind. She wasn't sure she could do this, to sentence someone to leave a city they had known their entire life; especially a man like Mossador who had always fought for Rhaenar since her arrival.
She stopped, the swish of the blue skirts behind her falling silent. Her top felt too tight, too restrictive as she clawed at the high neck, desperate to put some room between her skin and the sheer fabric. The fabric was breathable, but the air refused to fill her lungs as she gasped at it, stumbling slightly to the edge. Her hips rested against the edge, Rhaenar's eyes closed as she willed the air to fill her lungs once more. "Queen Rhaenar?" A voice called from in front of her, her eyes flying open as she lowered her hand.
Blue stood in front of her questioning swimming in his dark hues as his eyes trailed over her, her skin flushed, breathing erratic. "Yes?"
"They're ready for you now." Rhae closed her eyes for a brief second, nodding to him. "Are you okay?"
She forced a smile across her lips. "Perfectly fine, sweet Blue. Go, I'll be out in a moment." Rhaenar needed to collect herself, to straighten her spine and to let the fire of the dragon take over her; but no matter how much she willed it upon herself, it wouldn't come. Too many fears lurked in the depth of her mind, too many scenarios playing out in front of her. Her father had dealt his justice upon people far too many times to count, Ser Barristan's words trickling in her mind. What if her justice was wrong? What if she failed to stop a revolt just like he did?
The doors opened again, her mind silencing as her eyes found the mirror. The same thick bundles of braids were pinned to the back of her head, the crown woven within those strands as it had the day she arrived back in Meereen, the red coating her eyes. Khal Drogo's thick, golden chain hung between the valley of her breasts, and Mero's ring was placed upon a different finger but still worn. She hadn't been dressed this royally in what felt like months, the off-the-shoulder gathered chiffon dress daring, but with every comfort of her breeches tucked beneath. Beaded dragon scales touched upon her neck, falling down and out across her chest before burying themselves beneath the chiffon.
She was the blend of Blackfyre and Targaryen, a monarch of her own design in a city that didn't always want her. Rhaenar's shoulders fell back, her chin up, and her mind quiet; she refused to think of her father now, and the mistakes he had made. Rhae turned away from her room, walking out of the door to the gathering of a party who would join her. They each wore those dragon brooches, dressed all in black, with lines of red coating their eyes. Even Prince Oberyn had donned a black robe with golden suns on for the occasion, a red silken shirt beneath that, and scales of a black snake lining the edge.
