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 a particularly overcast day on Dragonstone once they had reached the shores, the air cold and with a hint of wetness to it as Rhaenar stepped off the boat, glancing left and right as she began to make her way across the moist sand. The tide had come in, the water almost touching the slanting cliffs as it lapped at the stone. Her hand tightened around her other one, her face clear as she made her way up the steps, the others following.
Oberyn and Willas would return home for now, as would Tywin taking the Unsullied with him so they would have less of a journey to the North; it was only Jon and his men, Theon, and her commanders who had returned with her. They had to find the best way to safely travel North, while coordinating most of the houses, and it seemed like a challenge just to even think about it.
There was one thing Rhaenar enjoyed about the mist that seemed to cling to the island, and that was how refreshing it felt; how revitalised the smell of the ocean, and the grass was as it mingled beneath her nose. Her boots stepped along the familiar cobbles, her eyes searching up. She needed to see the dragons first, to see how they were coping with the death of Viserion. On the night she first returned to Dragonstone, they had been inconsolable, not even wanting to see their mother or to eat; Rhaenar hoped now they were in better mood.
She hesitated as she reached the last step, turning around to face them. "Get yourselves in the Painted Table room, and make yourselves warm; we've been travelling a lot recently, the last thing we need is you all freezing to death." Rhae muttered, hoping that once they got inside they'd be well cared for. "I'll meet you in a moment, I won't be long." She promised before leaving them without answering any questions.
Rhae knew the way like the back of her hand as she slipped past the fortress of Dragonstone completely, slipping through the dry branches of winter touched trees and out to the caved hills, where her babies rested. She was cautious in her approach, her boots making enough sound for them to recognise the steps but not too much to startle them; the last thing Rhaenar needed was to deal with temperamental dragons snapping at her.
Low growls rippled from the opening, her steps slowing as she waited outside. Dragons had their boundaries, just like humans; and Rhae needed to respect them if they were going to let her anywhere near them. Her ears pricked for any sound, any movement as the low growls continued to rumble before a step was made, claws digging into the harsh stone like metal on a grinder. The dark opening gave way to a pair of eyes, gold watching her as they blinked over. They conveyed nothing, no anger, no sadness; not even curiosity.
It worried Rhae, her hand lifting, raising to the young male. "Rhaegal?" She encouraged, taking a step forward. The head lowered to her, letting more of the light cast onto the scales. In an instant, she could see the shift in their colour, the way they slowly were turning darker. From books she'd read, she recognised the signs - he was stressed. Missing his brother must have taken a turn on him; his tongue hung out of his lips before he began to pant.
