Rhaella Targaryen.
The private dining hall of the Red Keep felt smaller tonight, its stone walls seemingly closing in around us despite the warm glow cast by a dozen flickering candelabras. Their light danced across faded dragon tapestries that adorned the walls, their edges curling like the glory we had lost over time, reminding us of past splendor and victories now long gone.
I sat at the worn oak table, its deep scratches rough under my fingers, staring at the meager feast before us ; dry roasted pigeon, bland boiled turnips and a flagon of sour Dornish wine.
I adjusted my heavy crimson gown and tucked a strand of silver hair behind my ear, I was acutely aware of the silent servants lurking just beyond the shadows, their presence a constant reminder that our words were never truly private; they were always listening.
At the head of the table sat my uncle, King Jaehaerys II, who appeared as a frail ghost of the once-mighty-king who once crushed the Ninepenny Kings.
His thinning silver hair framed a sickly face, his trembling hands gripping a weirwood cane carved with dragonheads. Beside him, Queen Shaera sat straight-backed, her sharp lilac eyes betraying no weakness.
To my left, my cousin and heir Vaegon, sat in silence, his dust-covered silver-gold hair tangled from travel. His shadowed lilac eyes stared at nothing, and the black orb at his belt gleamed ominously in the candlelight.
Across from us, Aerys lounged restlessly, his wild silver hair and violet eyes alight with mischief or something darker. His fingers drummed an irritating rhythm on the table, his rumpled black tunic suggesting he hadn't slept, or hadn't bothered to.
The silence stretched, until Jaehaerys' voice rasped through, thin as parchment but heavy with a king's echo. "Rosby's fields are blooming, Vaegon… " he said, his withered lips curling faintly, a ghost of pride in his clouded gaze.
"Two hundred acres of wheat, rye and turnips stand where once only blight prevailed. The smallfolk are eating and even the council is starting to listen. You've carried the crown's hope when I couldn't." His cane tapped, weak but deliberate, and I saw his eyes drift to me, a flicker I'd learned to dread, his mind turning to heirs, to me.
My stomach tightened, the turnip in my hand suddenly felt heavy. I'd heard the whispers in the halls, Vaegon's triumph and how they called him the 'Cropbringer,' and I'd felt a quiet awe, a hope that we might not starve this winter.
But now, sitting beside him, I felt the weight of something else, something darker.
Vaegon inclined his head, his voice steady and firm cutting through the hall. "The realm demanded it Father," he said, reaching for a turnip and rolling it in his fingers as if it were a talisman.
"Using ash and late planting turned famine into grain. Rosby's proof of that and Duskendale is next. We're holding on, for now." His words were calm, but I caught the strain beneath like he was holding something back.
Shaera set her goblet down with a soft clink, her gaze slicing to Vaegon then lingering on me heavy with meaning. "A victory, yes," she said, her voice low and edged with the steel I'd known since childhood.
"They sing 'Cropbringer' in the streets, I hear pride in it and so should you. But Rosby bleeds too, fifteen dead by this Aelthys. Staunton's whispers reach even me, they describe him as 'shadow-swift, eyes afire.' What cost comes with this strength, son? Rhaella's to bind our blood, will it hold her future too?" Her lilac eyes narrowed, pride clashing with a mother's fear and I felt my breath hitch as they settled on the orb.
Fifteen dead. I'd heard it too from a maid who'd overheard a guardsman, the frost at Rosby stained red, a single man cutting through bandits like a scythe through wheat. Aelthys. The name sent a shiver down my spine, and I glanced at Vaegon, searching his face.
His jaw tightened, a muscle flickering and when he spoke his voice was deliberate, meeting Shaera's stare head-on. "A shield Mother," he said, his tone a wall. "Aelthys is a warrior, Stepstones-bred and loyal to me. He guards what I've built. There is no sorcery, simply a man with steel. The harvest stands for us all, Rhaella's future included." His eyes flicked to me, brief but piercing and I felt a flush creep up my neck, future he said, as if it were already written.
Aerys laughed, a sharp, jagged sound that split the air, leaning forward with a gleam in his eyes that made my skin crawl. "Steel, he says!" he said, his fingers stalling mid-drum, wine sloshing as he jabbed a finger at the orb.
"Fifteen in a heartbeat, Stepstones don't forge that kind of man brother. I smell Valyria's rot, blood and fire, that trinket's work. You'll wed Rhaella, sit Father's throne and what, leave me a shadow? That orb's your crown already!" His grin twisted, venom dripping from every word and I flinched as his gaze darted to me, possessive and spiteful as if I were a prize he'd been denied.
My heart thudded, the flagon trembling in my grip as I set it down. Wed Vaegon? The thought had whispered through the court, Jaehaerys' wish to bind our blood to keep the dragon pure, but hearing it spat from Aerys' lips made it real and heavy, a chain I hadn't chosen.
I looked to Vaegon, his face a mask but I saw the tension in his shoulders and the way his hand brushed the orb as if it steadied him. Was Aerys right? Did that thing rule him?
Jaehaerys coughed a wet rattling sound that made me wince, his cane tapping harder against the floor. "Peace Aerys," he rasped, his voice frail but sharp cutting through the din. "Vaegon's holding us together, fields now, a family line later."
His clouded eyes shifted to me then to Vaegon, and my chest tightened as he pressed on, weaker now. "The realm needs heirs, your blood Vaegon and hers, stronger together." His hand trembled, the words a decree half-spoken, fading into a wheeze.
Aerys slammed his hand down, the table shuddering, wine splattering across the oak. "Heirs?" he hissed, rising halfway, his shadow stretching long in the candlelight.
"You'd bind her to him, him and his shadows while I'm left scraps? That orb's a leash Father, whose neck's it going to choke when he's king? Hers? Mine?" His voice cracked, wildfire blazing in his stare and I shrank back, the servants' whispers a faint hum behind me. I'd always known Aerys' temper, his flashes of cruelty but this was sharper, it's a wound festering.
Shaera stood, her chair scraping, her voice a whipcrack that silenced even Aerys' echo. "Sit, Aerys," she commanded, her eyes blazing. "Vaegon's no thief , he's held us while you brood. But you—" she turned to Vaegon, her tone softening though no less stern.
"That orb's no gift. I see you chasing its whispers. What's it taken, son? Rhaella deserves truth if she's to stand with you." She sat, her goblet steady again but her words hung like a blade over me, cutting deeper than I'd expected.
I swallowed, my throat dry despite the wine and found my voice small but steady slipping into the silence. "The smallfolk sing of you, Vaegon," I said, lifting my eyes to his, their lilac depths meeting mine with a flicker of surprise.
"Rosby's grain fills their bellies, I hear it in the halls and feel it in their prayers. But this Aelthys… his shadow falls heavy. If we're to wed, I'd know what stands with us—what you carry." My hands unclenched, trembling slightly and I held his gaze needing more than his assurances, needing the truth beneath the mask.
Vaegon turned to me fully, and for a moment, I saw something crack in his stillness, exhaustion, perhaps, or a hollowness I hadn't named. "A protector Rhaella," he said, his voice gentler now softer than I'd heard it as if speaking only to me. "Fast, fierce and worth a dozen men. I brought him to guard what we'll build—our future, not just mine. The orb… it's a tool, nothing more."
He held my gaze, a spark of resolve flaring, and I wanted to believe him, wanted to trust the cousin who'd turned famine to hope. But the orb pulsed, its glint mocking his words and I felt a chill, tool or master, it clung to him like a second skin.
Aerys snorted, collapsing back into his seat muttering into his wine, "Lies… blood and lies…" Jaehaerys coughed again, weaker, his voice a whisper as he slumped back. "Enough… we're dragons, not vultures. Vaegon's work keeps us strong and Rhaella will secure it. Let it be." His breath rattled, the king's will fading with his frame, leaving the air thick with unspoken things.
Shaera's lips thinned, her eyes still on Vaegon unconvinced. Aerys glared, his fingers curling around his goblet as if to crush it. And Vaegon sat still beside me, the orb's pulse a heartbeat I could almost hear, his words echoing in my mind—our future.
I stared at the turnips, their dull sheen a promise he'd forged and wondered what price I'd pay to share it. The hall fell silent save for the wind's wail and the candles' sputter, our family fraying like the tapestries above, bound by blood and torn by shadows. And me, i was caught in the weave.
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Vaegon's Chambers, Red Keep, Night after the Dinner.
Rhaella Targaryen.
The Red Keep's corridors swallowed sound tonight, my slippered feet whispering against the cold stone as I moved deeper into the Tower of the Hand, where Vaegon kept his chambers. My crimson gown rustled softly, its hem brushing the floor and I clutched a woolen shawl tighter around my shoulders, the chill seeping through despite the firelight.
I'd lain awake after the dinner, the turnips' earthy taste lingering, Vaegon's words 'our future' and Aerys' venom twisting them into knots. I needed truth, not whispers, not promises. I needed to see this Aelthys for myself.
His door loomed ahead, iron-banded oak carved with faint dragon sigils and I hesitated, my knuckles hovering an inch from the wood. What if Aerys was right? What if that orb ruled him, a shadow I'd bind myself to? But the king's frail voice echoed 'stronger together' and I knocked, sharp and quick, my breath catching as the sound reverberated.
The door creaked open, and Vaegon stood there, silver-gold hair loose and tangled, his eyes narrowing in surprise before softening. His black tunic was unbuttoned at the collar, the orb glinting at his belt, its dark surface pulsing faintly in the dimness.
Behind him, a fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm glow over a cluttered desk, parchments, a dagger and a half-empty flagon of wine. "Rhaella," he said, voice low, a question in it, stepping aside to let me in. "It's late. What brings you here?"
I stepped past him, the warmth of the room a sharp contrast to the hall's bite, and turned, meeting his gaze. "I couldn't sleep," I said, my voice steadier than I felt though my hands twisted the shawl's edge.
"At the dinner, your words and Aerys'… I need to know, Vaegon. This Aelthys, who is he, truly? If we're to wed, I'd see him not just hear tales." My eyes flicked to the orb, its glint catching the firelight and I swallowed, the question hanging between us.
He shut the door, the thud soft but final, and leaned against it, arms crossing. His face was a mask, but I saw the flicker in his eyes, wariness perhaps, or weariness. "You've heard Staunton's rooks," he said, a faint edge to his tone. "'Shadow-swift, eyes afire' and fifteen dead. It's all true Rhaella. He's a warrior loyal to me, to the crown. What more do you need?"
"Truth," I said, stepping closer, my voice rising despite myself. "Not rumors, not your shield of words. I saw your hand on that orb tonight, it's no mere tool Vaegon. I'd know what I'm binding myself to and what stands with us. Show me Aelthys. Let me judge him."
My heart thudded, but I held his stare, needing him to bend, to trust me as I might trust him.
He exhaled, sharp and low, running a hand through his hair and for a moment, I thought he'd refuse. Then he straightened, lilac eyes hardening with resolve.
"Fine," he said, voice clipped. "Tomorrow at dawn, Rosby's yard. You'll see him train with Gyles' men. But know this Rhaella he's mine to command, not yours to fear." He stepped toward the hearth, the orb's glint following, and poured two goblets of wine, handing me one. "Drink. It'll steady you."
I took it, the metal cool against my palm, and sipped, the wine bitter but grounding. "And the orb?" I pressed, softer now, watching his face. "Shaera's fear… it's not baseless, is it?"
His grip tightened on his goblet, knuckles whitening, and he stared into the fire, the flames dancing in his eyes. "I don't know." he said at last, voice low, almost lost in the crackle.
"It cost me sleep, pieces of myself I can't name. But it's mine to bear Rhaella, not yours." He turned, his gaze piercing mine and I saw it then, a crack in the mask, a hollow ache that mirrored my own fears.
"Not yet." I echoed, my voice a whisper, the wine trembling in my hand. "But if we wed it will be. I'd share that burden Vaegon or flee it. Which will you let me do?" The fire popped, spitting embers and he said nothing, his silence a wall I couldn't breach, not tonight. I set the goblet down, the clink loud in the quiet and left, the orb's pulse lingering in my mind like a heartbeat I couldn't shake.
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Aerys Targaryen.
Rhaella's Chambers, Red Keep, Evening after Rhaella's Probe.
The Red Keep's corridors stank of damp and decay tonight, the torchlight too weak to chase the shadows clawing at the walls. I stalked through them, boots scuffing the stone, my black cloak swirling behind me.
The dinner gnawed at me, Vaegon's calm lies and Father's frail favor, Rhaella's soft eyes on him and I'd heard the whispers from a kitchen boy: she'd gone to his chambers last night, bold as a queen already. My blood burned, violet eyes narrowing as I reached her door, a slab of oak carved with faint vines and pounded it with my fist, the sound a drumbeat of my rage.
She opened it after a moment, silver hair spilling loose over her crimson robe, violet eyes widening at me with surprise, then wariness. Good. She should fear me. "Aerys," she said, voice soft but edged, stepping back as I pushed past her into the room.
A fire flickered in the hearth, a tapestry of Aegon's Conquest glowing above it and a half-read book lay open on her table, some dull history no doubt. "What do you want? It's late."
I spun on her grinning, though it felt more like baring teeth. "Late aye, late for you to sneak to Vaegon's lair," I said, voice sharp, venom dripping. "What was it Rhaella? A lover's tryst already or begging for his secrets? That orb's got its claws in him and you're fool enough to tie yourself to it!" I stepped closer, towering over her slight frame and her flinch fed the fire in my chest.
She straightened, her jaw tightening, violet eyes flashing , more steel than I'd expected. "I sought truth," she said, voice steady despite the tremble in her hands. "He's to be my husband Aerys, Jaehaerys wills it. I'd know what I'm wedding not just hear your spite."
"Truth?" I laughed a jagged sound, pacing now the room too small for my fury. "He feeds you lies, Stepstones warrior, loyal steel! That Aelthys is no man. I've seen the smallfolk whisper it, seen Staunton's glee. It's sorcery Rhaella, Valyria's rot and that orb's the root of it all. He's not saving us, he's chaining us to shadows!" I grabbed her arm, fingers digging in and she gasped, pulling back but not breaking free.
"Let go," she said, low and cold, wrenching her arm away, stepping toward the fire. "You're just jealous Aerys, jealous that he's the heir, jealous that he's succeeded. The harvest is feeding us, and Aelthys is protecting it, what proof do you have, besides your bitterness?"
I smirked and leaning close, my breath hot against her ear. "Proof? Watch him sweet cousin, watch that orb glow when he lies, watch Aelthys move like no mortal should. I'll prove it, I'll drag that shadow into the light and show Father what Vaegon's loosed. Wed him and you'll wear that leash too, your babes born to blood and fire, not a throne." I stepped back, her glare a spark to my tinder, and turned for the door, pausing. "Choose wisely, Rhaella or I'll choose for you."
I left, her silence a roar in my ears and stormed down the hall. Vaegon wouldn't have her—not her, not the throne, not while I still breathed.
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Vaegon Targaryen.
Jaehaerys' Bedchamber, Red Keep, Two Days after Aerys' Scheme.
The king's bedchamber was a stifling haze of ash and anguish, the air thick with the bitter tang of burnt herbs and the faint, sour reek of a body fraying at the seams.
I stood at the foot of Jaehaerys' bed, silver-gold hair damp against my brow, sweat prickling beneath my black doublet from nights of fractured sleep, haunted by Aelthys' amber eyes and the orb's relentless pulse.
That orb burned at my belt now, its dragon-etched surface glinting in the dim firelight, its whisper—"seek the fire's root"—a steady throb in my skull, sharper here as if it drank the room's despair.
Crimson drapes hung heavy around the four-poster, their gold threads dulled by dust and neglect, framing Father's frail form beneath a black velvet coverlet stitched with dragons, their claws seemed to cradle him, reluctant to let go.
His silver hair spilled thin and brittle across the pillow streaked with grey, matted with the sweat of fever, and his lilac eyes—once alight with a king's fire—were sunken, clouded with pain and a grief that never faded.
His chest rose in shallow rattling gasps, each breath a struggle against lungs scarred by Summerhall's smoke, a body weakened by the fire's lingering toll, burns hidden beneath his robes, twisted into scars and a heart crushed by the kin he'd buried.
Aegon, Duncan, so many lost to that blaze three years past, their absence a weight he carried heavier than the crown. His hands trembling clutched the coverlet's edge, knuckles pale as if anchoring himself to a throne he could barely hold. The weirwood cane leaned against the bed.
Rhaella stood to my right. I'd called her at dawn. Her probe two nights ago—what you carry—lingered unanswered, her demand for truth a thread I'd sidestepped yet here she stood, closer than I'd dared hope.
The door creaked, slow and mournful, and Shaera swept in, her eyes red-rimmed but fierce, glistening with a resolve honed by loss. She took her place at Jaehaerys' left, her hand closing over his, steady where his shook, a queen guarding a flame that flickered too low.
"Vaegon… Rhaella…" Jaehaerys' voice rasped through the silence, a whisper frayed by smoke and sorrow, yet taut with a king's fading will. His eyes locked on me, piercing through the haze of pain, and I felt their weight—a father's plea, a crown's demand, buckling under years of ash and ruin.
"The realm… it holds because of you, son. Rosby's fields—two hundred acres growing where famine nearly ruined my reign. Aelthys' strength stopped the ruin where I...I faltered." He coughed, a wet, hacking sound, blood flecking his lips staining the coverlet dark and Shaera's grip tightened, her breath hitching though her face stayed carved in stone, etched by a grief she'd borne since Summerhall.
I stepped closer, boots scuffing the rushes strewn across the floor, my voice low and steady despite the ache clawing my throat. "Father," I said, forcing calm over the tremor beneath, "it's for the crown, for us all. I'll hold it as you have." The words tasted sharp, Rosby was mine, Aelthys bound by blood in that crypt but the orb's cost gnawed deeper each night, a hollow I masked with grain and steel. Summerhall hadn't scarred me but its shadow did—Father's frailty, a mirror I feared to face.
His lips twitched, a faint, pained smile, and his gaze shifted, slow and deliberate, to Rhaella. "And you, girl…" he wheezed, his free hand trembling as it reached for hers, skeletal fingers brushing her sleeve like a dying ember's touch. She stepped forward, her gown rustling soft as a sigh, and took it, her violet eyes glistening as his closed over hers, fragile yet fierce with intent.
"The blood… must stay pure. You'll wed him—Vaegon and bind our line, make it strong. Summerhall took… too much—Duncan, Aegon, the fire… I've little time left. If the gods spare me… I'll not let the dragon gutter out." His voice cracked, raw with a desperation that clawed at me, a king racing a shadow he couldn't outrun.
Rhaella's breath caught, her hand tightening in his, and her voice trembled, soft but cutting through the gloom. "Uncle," she said, her eyes flicking to me, then back, "I'll stand with him—if he'll have me true. But this strength he's forged… the orb, Aelthys… it's a shadow I don't know. What drives him? I'd swear with eyes open." Her question stung, sharp and familiar, her probe again and her need for truth battering my silence and I felt the orb flare, its heat a brand against my side.
Jaehaerys' chest heaved, a ragged gasp, and his eyes sharpened, burning through the fever's haze with a clarity that chilled me. "Shadows…" he rasped, his voice dropping to a whisper, thick with memory.
"Summerhall left me shadows, flames I breathed and kin I couldn't save. The throne… it's a pyre Vaegon, it burns you slow. I held it after… after the fire, through war, through grief, 'til my lungs choked on ash and my heart broke with theirs. Your orb… I've not held it, don't know its voice but I see it in you. Strength yes, but a weight… heavier than mine. It's yours to carry as I carried mine." He coughed again, blood bubbling at his lips, a dark smear against his pallor and his hand clutched Rhaella's tighter his gaze pleading, fierce.
Shaera's head dipped, a low sound escaping her, a sob swallowed into silence and I felt the room shrink. "Father," I said, voice rougher now, stepping to his bedside, "I've borne it. I'll bear it still for you and for the realm." My hand brushed the orb, its heat steadying me, though his words sank deep, a pyre that burns you slow, echoes of my own nights, the exhaustion I'd cloaked as duty and the kin I'd not lost but feared to.
He nodded, a faint jerk, his eyes locking on mine with a king's fading fire, dim but unyielding. "You will… but not alone. Rhaella, she's your flame now as Shaera's mine. I've days Vaegon, days to see it set. Swear it—here, before I weaken more. Wed her, reign with her and keep the dragon alive. The throne… it's yours but it'll take all you have… don't let it take her too." His voice faltered, breath shallowing and he turned to Rhaella, his grip a tremor against her hand. "Swear it, girl… for me, for the blood… for what's left."
Rhaella's violet eyes widened, glistening with tears she blinked back, and she glanced at me, her face pale—grief, duty, a fragile hope warring within.
"I swear it," she said, voice breaking, soft as a prayer, her hand steadying in his. "For you and for the realm. But Vaegon…" She turned fully to me, her free hand reaching for mine, trembling but firm, her touch a jolt through the haze.
"Let it be ours not its alone. When it takes—tell me and share it… don't burn alone." Her plea cut deeper than her probe, a lifeline I hadn't sought and I felt the orb's pulse quicken, a storm brewing in my chest.
I knelt beside her, my hand closing over hers, soft, warm, trembling and met her gaze, her violet eyes searching mine, shadowed by fear, lit by a trust I hadn't earned.
"I swear it," I said, voice raw, the orb's rhythm syncing with my own, a vow tearing free. "To you, to him and for the realm. I'll bear it… we'll bear it."
The words were a promise, fragile as Jaehaerys' breath not when the orb's hunger gnawed, not when Aelthys' slaughter stained my dreams, not when Summerhall's echo warned me of ruin. But her fingers squeezed mine, a tether and I clung to it, her resolve a mirror to Shaera's beside me.
Jaehaerys' breath hitched, a ragged gasp, and his eyes fluttered, the tension easing from his face, though his chest still rose, faint and uneven. "Good…" he whispered, blood staining his lips as his hand slackened in Shaera's, not limp, but weary, clinging to life by a thread.
Shaera bent closer, her free hand brushing his brow, silver streaking her cheeks, a low sob stifled into a murmur— "Stay with me, just a little more." The maester stepped forward, adjusting the brazier's heat, his grey robes rustling and I felt it—the crown's weight looming, not yet mine, but closer, Rhaella's hand in mine, Jaehaerys' warning a shadow as vast as the orb's.
His eyes drifted shut, breath shallow but holding and I stood, pulling Rhaella up with me—still an heir, betrothed and tied by blood and fire with a burden I'd sworn to share, its flames already close.