Chapter 34: Incur

Arthur:

"He's trying to steal my son's birthright!"

"That will not happen, Princess," Lord Mace Tyrell tried his best to soothe her. "The Reach stands with you." The sitting Lord of Highgarden added.

Arthur didn't speak. That wasn't his purpose here. Even if it was what could I say? He once thought and would deny that Rhaegar's brother wanted the throne, but he had been proven the fool. Before Harrenhal Rhaegar showed me the truth. He was grateful that he did not hold Arthur's mistake against him. That is why he is a good friend and will make a good king.

They were in the council chambers. The King's seat was empty. Rhaegar had informed the court and council upon their arrival that his father remained sick and tired, and needed time to rest and recover. King Aerys wasn't even seen. He was discreetly escorted to his chambers and remained under guard. They are there to protect the king from himself. Those were Rhaegar's instructions.

Harrenhal has undone him, Arthur thought sadly of Aerys' spiraling state.

Rhaegar's changes were not well received by Aerys' small council, but these lords could do little besides protest when he began to dismiss them to put forward his own men. Rhaegar had the backing of the castle garrison, the gold cloaks, the people in the city, and the many, many lords who had followed him from Harrenhal. The tents camped out around King's Landing were so large it seemed to make up its own little city.

There was no Hand of the King, but Rhaegar served its position in all but name. He even sat where the Hand would sit.

Lord Tywin Lannister had been Hand when he arrived at Harrenhal. He left the tournament a traitor. Arthur had come to several of these meetings, but they still made him a mite uncomfortable. I feel like an imposter. He was a single knight amidst a group of powerful lords. They held great wealth, could call great numbers to Rhaegar's banner, and controlled large swaths of land to provide food. All I have is my sword and my vow.

Princess Laela took the seat to Rhaegar's other side, who had sat quietly during his wife's outburst. It had not been her first and Arthur assumed it would not be her last.

Lord Tyrell sat beside her. He was currently serving as Master of Laws, but Arthur knew it was the Hand of the King title that he coveted. The Lord of Highgarden brought the might of the Reach with him and had been amply rewarded with the announcement that his first daughter would marry Rhaegar's son and heir, Aegon. There was no daughter to speak of at the moment, but that didn't concern Lord Tyrell. His wife was pregnant with their third child and he was confident that she would deliver him a daughter after already giving him two sons.

"You were too merciful on Connington." Princess Laela was the only one bold enough to go against her husband. The others at the table were always quick to agree or flatter, but the Princess from Volantis was never shy to voice her displeasure nor at repeating it.

"Lord Connington made a mistake," Rhaegar said firmly, defending his absent friend. "There were many mistakes made at Harrenhal."

The Lord of Griffin's Roost had been sent to the Stormlands to retrieve Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys, who had already left Storm's End to make their return to King's Landing. His departure was a clear sign of the prince's dissatisfaction at how his friend handled Daeron's arrest.

Arthur saw the slightest wince the princess made at this reminder. "They were punished."

The they that the prince and his wife were referring to were the newly revealed Golden Company mercenaries. Rhaegar presented them to the court upon his return to the capital. He had informed them all that the Golden Company had come to repent and serve their rightful ruler. Their sudden appearance and alliance had sent a ripple through court. Not everyone seemed convinced at Rhaegar's announcement, and Arthur knew many had families who had fought and died against the Golden Company. The War of the Ninepenny Kings was still fresh in some minds.

In the end, Rhaegar's endorsement won the day. His goodwill shone brighter than the Golden Company's dark past. The mercenary company was not fully embraced, and some lords even left the capital because of it, but their numbers were few. The hard truth was if the Seven Kingdoms were plunged into war, the Golden Company were the best and most powerful mercenaries to be found. They brought numbers, experience, and talent that would be sorely needed. It was a begrudging admittance to some, but their reputation could not be denied.

They were not alone in their surprise or their hesitance, Arthur too had trouble accepting them. He had known about them since before the tournament at Harrenhal when Rhaegar had revealed Blackfyre to him. His friend hadn't just shown him a sword but had told him of this new alliance with the notorious mercenary company. The sword had been surprising enough to Arthur, but this sudden alliance had him astonished. I swore to be his man, he had reminded himself. Rhaegar forgave and accepted them. His family had the strongest vendetta against them so if Rhaegar can welcome them into the fold then he should too. I did, but it was still strange to see their colors worn so openly throughout the city and the Red Keep.

"They were sloppy." Rhaegar didn't withhold his judgment on what had occurred at Harrenhal. "When plans and orders aren't followed through," He stopped himself, "It is behind us. We must move forward." He sighed, "I wish I didn't even need to plan for an occasion that would call my brother to betray me."

A betrayal felt by many, Arthur wouldn't let his mind settle on the other betrayals that followed the Prince. They were my brothers. And now they're gone.

"But you did, my prince," Lord Marq Grafton had replaced one of Aerys' staunchest supporters, Lord Lucerys Valeryon as the new Master of Ships. The Lord of Gulltown was a stout man with short blond hair and a thick mustache that he had curled at its tips. Arthur had seen him in the sparring yard, and Lord Grafton looked as comfortable in armor and with a sword as he does now, sitting and planning.

" Wisdom and strength !" Lord Mooton quoting his own house words from his seat. The Lord of Maidenpool was a round man with mousy hair and red cheeks. He had been another one of Rhaegar's new appointments, serving as Master of Coin. "You have shown both, my prince."

Mace Tyrell shot an annoyed look that went unseen by the Prince and Princess. He clearly didn't want to be overshadowed. "He forced your hand, my prince. Why else would he send Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys away? He was planning something," the Lord of Highgarden sounded more affronted at Prince Daeron's deeds than Prince Rhaegar, "You only reacted accordingly."

Lord Tyrell should change his standard to a fawn, Arthur kept that suggestion to himself.

"The fault lies solely on your brother, my prince," Lord Tyrell said, "You're trying to serve the Seven Kingdoms while your brother is trying to steal them."

His tone is honeyed, but his words aren't wrong, Arthur had wanted to believe they were. He kept telling himself they had to be. He knew of Daeron's distaste towards his brother, but he never thought this rivalry could spill out onto a battlefield, dragging the Seven Kingdoms with them. I was wrong. I was wrong about him. I was wrong about them.

"Lord Tyrell speaks truly, husband," Princess Laela's words had the Lord of Highgarden beaming.

Rhaegar turned his attention further down the table. "Have we received any raven from the north?"

"No, my prince," Acolyte Addam was currently serving as the acting Grand Maester since Pycelle had died in his sleep less than a fortnight ago. It was old age, Pycelle's acolytes declared after the autopsy. That made the matter settled to them and a raven was sent to the Citadel for a replacement.

Pycelle was old, Arthur would admit, but he didn't seem that feeble when we left. He had no facts so he let it go. He didn't think it was worth their attention especially with such dark tidings on the horizon. I have enough to deal with and little time to do it all.

"Lord Stark will believe you," Princess Laela assured him, "I've been told those, those, cran-," She frowned, struggling to say the word.

"Crannogman," Lord Mooton supplied kindly.

"Yes, them," Princess Laela said, " I've been told that they're not very well regarded within the Seven Kingdoms."

"They are not," Lord Mooton agreed.

"You cannot blame yourself, my prince," Lord Tyrell was not one to be left behind. "He was a traitor. He admitted as much."

"I have only a few birds in the north, my prince," Lord Varys was the only member of Aerys' Small Council who Rhaegar retained. "But I don't believe this death will stir much outrage, perhaps some blustering, but it would carry little bite," he giggled, "The North doesn't seem interested in involving itself in southern matters."

The eunuch is a strange man, but Arthur knew him to be loyal to Rhaegar.

"Better for them to remain in the north then take the chance they could side with your brother," Lord Grafton's observation rankled some.

"They swore vows to the king," Lord Tyrell didn't seem bothered by the fact that the king wasn't present and hadn't been for some time. "Shameful, shameful," He shook his head.

Arthur yearned to be back in the sparring yard where the likes of Lord Tyrell wouldn't be able to flourish. The sword could not be coddled or flattered. You can't bribe to achieve the skill. It must be earned.

"What of your brother, my prince?" Addam's apple in his throat bobbed.

"What of him?" Rhaegar asked coolly.

"Do you believe he'll reconsider?" The acolyte twitched at being under such scrutiny by the powerful lords around him.

"No," Rhaegar drummed his long fingers against the table. "He is too infatuated with his Lannister betrothed."

"Betrayed his own brother for an expensive whore," The Princess' tone was scathing. "The lions have their claws in your brother and are trying to turn their newly made puppet into a king."

He would not have worded it in such a disrespectful manner, but Arthur believed her point was right. If Prince Daeron had just accepted his brother's urging not to marry into the Lannisters then there would be no conflict. But he knew deep down that the prince would never pick his brother over her. How much will be lost because of it? He chose a lion over the dragon and now the Kingdoms will surely bleed.

"The Lannisters are always wanting more," Lord Tyrell shook his head at their greed.

Arthur saw Rhaegar raise his eyebrow while the corners of his mouth tugged upwards ever so slightly. He must have been the only one, but it was enough for a smile to come to his lips at seeing his friend's mood improve even if he had to thank the Lord of Highgarden for it.

"Thank you, Lord Tyrell," The Prince was able to smother his smile before turning to his staunch supporter. "Lord Mooton, Lord Grafton," He inclined his head to them as he spoke their names, "I pray your liege lords share your loyalty towards my family."

Neither Lord Jon Arryn nor Lord Hoster Tully had accompanied Rhaegar to King's Landing after Harrenhal, but neither had they gone to follow Daeron into the west. They returned to their castles. Many of their bannermen didn't follow this example. Some of Lord Tully's most powerful vassals could be found camped out beyond the capital walls including Darry, Whent, and Mooton. While it was Lord Grafton and not the Warden of the East, Lord Arryn who led a contingent of Vale lords to King's Landing.

He didn't know of betrothals or alliances. He didn't have any idea how to bring this lord or that into the fold. Arthur knew how to fight and he knew how to serve. That is what I swore to do and I must see it to the end.

Ser Jonothor Darry was injured in battle by Prince Daeron. He died of his wounds.

Arthur thought it over more times then he could count. He even wrote it out to see how it would look before officially recording it into the White Book. He struggled with what else to say. Was it a battle? A skirmish? Knights didn't name the wars they only fought in them.

Ser Jonothor's injury had been bloody, but the maesters thought he would recover. Then the wound festered and the next thing Arthur knew was him being awoken in the middle of the night by a messenger from the acting Grand Maester informing him that Ser Jonothor was dead.

He looked it over. The words stuck out to him as if they were written in blood instead of ink.

The quill hovered over the page, but hesitance kept him from writing it into the book. This was permanent. He was the Lord Commander now. The guardian of the legacy of his sworn brothers. It was difficult enough to write out Lord Commander Hightower's death. It didn't feel right to see his handwriting on the pages. It was the Lord Commander's role to write down the stories and deeds of the knights that made up their order. And now the task is mine. Arthur would be lying if he did not think of one day taking the title, serving alongside his friend and king, but this was not the manner in which he wanted it. It was not supposed to come to pass like this.

What of Ser Barristan? Arthur had asked when Rhaegar told him he'd be the new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

Ser Barristan has discarded his white cloak. Rhaegar had informed him, Ser Gwayne has too.

Two of my brothers are dead, and two have deserted. Arthur still hadn't put in new entries for Barristan or Gwayne. He wasn't sure he was quite ready to close their pages.

The Kingsguard is sworn to the king. To defend him, to keep his counsel, to obey him. And here we are. I swore to serve Rhaegar over my king. And they swore to serve Daeron over their king. What sort of kingsguard are we? We who chose the princes over the king. The sons over the father.

"Lord Commander?"

He looked up from the pages of the White Book. "Princess Laela," he dipped her head to hide his frown. "This is unexpected." He was in the round room within the White Sword Tower, and the last thing he was expecting was to host the princess.

"I do not wish to stay long," She seemed to sense her misstep. "I wish to speak with you."

"Of course," He didn't offer her place to sit at the weirwood table that stood between them. This is the table for my brothers not trespassers.

She didn't ask or choose to sit. She kept her attention at the decorations adorning the room which included pale wool hangings. Laela took a few steps to look around. She tried to hide it, but he could tell that she wasn't impressed with the sparse conditions and bland colors.

The room was awash with white, but after everything that had happened at Harrenhal, he felt black was more fitting. Mourning those who had fallen and those who had wandered.

"I heard about Ser Jonothor," She began awkwardly, "He was a good knight. He deserved a better end." She stopped at the hearth. It wasn't the glow of the embers that had her attention, but the large white shield above it with two cross longswords. "To be killed by a man you were once sworn to protect." She turned back to him, "That is a sad fate."

"He was a good knight," Arthur wouldn't say more. He was his brother, but he preferred to mourn in peace.

"He was," she agreed, "I was going to speak with you even before hearing of his passing." Her attire was exotic, but her colors were familiar. She was swathed in crimson with elegant black bows and ribbons in elaborate designs, it looked as if one of the black ribbon outlines formed a dragon. "I wanted to know if you had given my suggestion some thought?"

"I have." He should've known that would be why she would seek him out. She wanted a white cloak for one of her mercenaries. "The Golden Company is filled with accomplished men," He said carefully,

"They are," She replied, happily, and hopeful, "many of them are knights too."

"So I've been told." It was his duty to replenish the ranks of the Kingsguard. It was no easy task especially with such tall shadows looming over the vacancies. There's no Hightower or Barristan to be found in the ranks of the Golden Company. Those are men of high quality and great talent. He had no doubt that these mercenaries were skilled, but they were killers and sellswords and he wanted knights that could become white swords.

It was not just Barristan and Lord Commander Hightower he needed to replace. There were four openings in total, four glaring spots that he was responsible for filling. He had compiled a list and had seen and spoken to some, but he still hadn't made any final decisions. I will need to soon.

"You've given me some names," He reminded her, "And I shall look them over. I need to speak with them. I need to spar with them," he went on, seeing her pleased smile grow the more he went, looking convinced that he'd give one of those precious white cloaks to a golden cloak mercenary. "Do you truly believe these men of wealth will trade their gold for poverty? We fight to serve. We die to protect. It isn't coin we live and die for, but our king and his orders."

"Not all sellswords are terrible men, Ser Arthur," She looked a little put off by his judgment. "The Company is filled with many who just wish to come home. That was why they fought. It is why they crossed the Narrow Sea. They wish to serve."

He was not expecting such a vehement defense of these men's character. "You are right," he admitted, "Many men who took the white cloak were simple hedge knights who others thought were unsuited, but were proven wrong."

"I only ask that you consider them, Ser Arthur."

"I will, princess," He was telling her the truth. "I will give them their chance."

"Thank you," She tipped her head. She took a few steps towards the exit, but she didn't look to be in a hurry.

"Princess?" He didn't wish to be rude, but he still had matters to attend to.

"They say you're the greatest swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms, Ser Arthur."

"I do not say that," He brought his hands to rest on the edge of the table. "There are many great swordsmen." He had the honor to fight and train among them including Ser Barristan as well as Prince Daeron. He kept those thoughts to himself believing they wouldn't be well received in present company.

She gave him a tight smile. "You speak of Prince Daeron and his friends."

"The prince travels in good company," Ser Arthur replied honestly. Prince Daeron, Ser Jaime Lannister, Prince Oberyn Martell, Robert Baratheon, the lord who killed his lord commander, Ned Stark too. It was the last name that made him pause, but it wasn't his talent that stilled him, but his relation. He's my good brother, he tried to stop the thought, but it still leaked through. Could I truly make my sister a widow if I faced her husband in battle? He hoped it didn't come to that. It couldn't.

"Including two turncloaks," The Princess' sour tone helped to dismiss his dark thoughts. "Barristan the Bold," she scoffed, "I suppose bold is an apt moniker for a knight who turned his cloak. It is certainly bold to commit treason." Her face darkened, but the storm in her eyes quickly passed and her expression relaxed. "Forgive me," she apologized, "my pregnancy has been challenging," her hand was resting on the swell of her belly.

"Of course," He wasn't a maester or a mother so he knew little of such things.

"My husband trusts you, Ser Arthur. We need you," her fingers were tracing one of the black ribbons along her red dress. "Aegon needs you."

"What do you need?"

"There will be battle. We all know it, and when it comes. We need you to be the one to fight him," Laela revealed, "We need you to kill him."

"Who?" Arthur asked despite the sinking suspicion settling in his gut of who it was she was talking about.

"Who else?" She smirked, "The traitor, Daeron Targaryen."

Rhaella:

Princess or prisoner?

She often wondered what she really was when she was raised in the Red Keep. Her betrothal to her brother was no different to fetters, binding them against both of their wishes. I didn't have a choice. I didn't have a voice. Her parents cared more about the words of some witch then they did their own children. I was both, but was I the prisoner because I was a princess?

Rhaella Targaryen sighed. She was the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but in the heart of the Red Keep, she found herself more imprisoned than empowered. Since her return to King's Landing, she had seen little and had received few guests. One of the only blessings was that none of them were her husband. At least I'm away from him.

It was a hollow victory because her other fears had been realized. They grew in her heart when she was sent away to the Stormlands. Their roots entangled in her chest. Her boys were moving against each other. My sons, she wanted to wail at the unfairness of it. Rhaegar, Daeron, my little joys in a lifetime of misery. The only solace in my marriage. The only lights Aerys couldn't extinguish from me. She didn't cry when Lord Connington met them on the road to the capital. When he informed her of what happened at Harrenhal. She had made sure Viserys wasn't there or told. She saved her tears so no one could see them, but even then, there were only a few. I'm too wary to weep. She was determined not to mourn one of her sons. She could not let this come to pass. The good in her life cannot be undone.

Every day she asked to see her son, and every day she was told he would come when he could. She learned that Rhaegar was all but ruling the Seven Kingdoms. He appointed his own council, he put forward a new Lord Commander. The news of the splitting kingsguard had sparked a cold dread that spread inside her: The Dance.

She tried to stomp it down. She wanted to push it away, but its foothold was too strong. The Dance, Targayren against Targaryen, kingsguard against kingsguard, the kingdoms against each other. It cannot happen, she wanted to shout. Please, no, she prayed, but the gods were silent. It was servants and guards who helped her, who gave her information, none she relied on more than Ser Alliser Thorne, who was retained as her sworn sword. A good and loyal man, she was grateful to still have him with her especially with the losses the kingsguard took.

Lord Commander Hightower dead, She had known him since she was a girl. His large frame, draped in white, his presence used to be such a comfort to her when she was a princess. With him I felt safe. That innocence was snuffed when she became her brother's wife. Ser Jonothor not only died, but was slain by Daeron. This news was more shocking than the Lord Commander's death. My son, killing a guard who swore to protect our family.

Rhaella found herself in the dark and she hated it. Sers Barristan and Gwayne went with Daeron, their defection brought her relief, but also sorrow. Relieved that her son wasn't alone, but if the kingsguard were splitting she knew what could come next. She looked around her apartments that she had been moved to. She moved to sit on one of the plush sofas by the hearth. A small fire was going, but it was the comfort she wanted not the warmth.

Viserys was moved in rooms closer to her, and again she was thankful for this small gesture. Her youngest boy hadn't stopped playing with the new toys his good sister, Princess Laela had gifted him when they returned. Wooden figures carved in the shape of the exotic elephant. Viserys was in awe of them, and quickly tried them out against his other wooden toys which included dragons and soldiers and knights. A pleased Laela then promised him that if he was good he could see them for real. That had delighted Viserys and she found her youngest son on his best behavior. Though it didn't stop him from asking after them and wondering when he'd get to see them. If it wasn't so dire she'd found herself more amused at her son's antics, but it was hard to feel joy when she knew where those elephants came from and what they meant- The Golden Company.

My sons what are you doing? She closed her eyes, Rhaegar, you'd rather side with our family's enemies then your own blood?

"Mother."

She blinked. Confused, but certain she heard a voice. She looked up to see her eldest was standing in the doorway. "Rhaegar," She rushed to him, wrapping her arms around him as soon as she could. The relief of seeing her son couldn't dam the restlessness or the anger that was fermenting inside her. "What is this madness?" She demanded, uncaring that he was the Crown Prince, the heir to the Seven Kingdoms. He was her son, her boy, and she'd not shy away from such feelings despite the etiquette that was expected.

"Mother," Rhaegar removed himself from her embrace, but he kept one of his hands on her shoulders, "You have missed much," He gently nudged her to follow him back towards the couch. "I'm only doing what I can to protect the Seven Kingdoms."

"Daeron, isn't a threat to your reign," She felt his grip on her shoulder tighten, but it was an instinctive squeeze at the mention of his brother. A flicker of discomfort before his fingers released their hold on her.

"He killed a knight in the kingsguard," Rhaegar didn't sit when she did. He stood in front of her, towering over her, a tall shadow that enveloped her sitting form. "He won't listen to the crown. He's dangerous."

"He's your brother," She wouldn't bend on her boys. "These are misunderstandings that can be mended."

"Mother," There was pity shining in his purple eyes, "He's chosen his betrothed over his blood."

She swallowed the first response she wanted to give. It was curt and brimming with anger. This frustration rattled within her. "It was an unfair question to be asked. It was an unwise demand to be made." She kept her tone calm, smoothing over any unsteady feelings from rising. "The Lannisters are our allies. An agreement was made between your father and Lord Tywin. To renege on a betrothal after a castle has been built," She paused, looking to her son, but the words seemed to miss their mark.

"A single castle doesn't concern me. Look at his friends, they are threats."

He doesn't sound like my Rhaegar, but Aerys.

"You refuse to see what is there, Mother," he turned his back on her. "It was Daeron who made the first move."

"Look at me, Rhaegar," She would not hear such an accusation from her son without looking him straight in the eyes.

He obeyed. He then repeated it. Neither his tone nor his conviction wavered. "I'm sorry," He sounded to have meant it, "The Lannisters have poisoned him. They've planted these treacherous seeds in his resentment for me and they have bore fruit."

Rhaella sagged in her seat. It felt as if she was drowning, desperately kicking to keep her head above the water as it crashed and swelled around her. The current trying to drag her down, but she kept fighting. "No," she said, "NO," She said it louder, the heat of it catching Rhaegar off guard. "No, it will not end like this," She took to her feet. "Let me talk to him. I can give you peace," she took her son's hands in her own, "I can stop this."

"Daeron's betrayal has upset father," Rhaegar began, "He is unwell, but he is still king. He despises the Lannisters and despite his condition he has made his mind clear on this matter. I cannot give you peace when he demands punishment."

"This is your brother," She nearly snapped, "All I've been told since arriving is that you are ruling in father's stead, and now you will not do this?"

"Him being my brother doesn't change his crimes," Rhaegar countered. He was calm and not upset. "I must tread carefully, I am leading, but I lead in my father's name still not my own."

She took his words without replying. Slowly, she thought through them, she wanted to believe him. This was her eldest son, the first of few blessings from her marriage. It was not like she could sit in on Small Council meetings, or petition for her orders to be given and then obeyed. My crown is a gilded chain that keeps me tied to Aerys. At the mention of her brother's name, something small and cold bloomed inside her. Rippling across her mind, growing as it moved. Even as it spread, she did not say the words aloud. It was beginning to consume her, a dangerous spark whose flames burned beyond her control, because this couldn't be taken back. Once the words are spoken they cannot be unspoken.

Rhaella Targaryen steadied herself. She didn't yield to the shiver that went through her. "And what if he wasn't king?" She asked as soft as spider's silk, beginning to weave a dangerous and deadly web.

Silence, she saw little in her son's reaction. No disgust, no outrage, she noted, just a quiet stillness that stretched out between them. "That would be a tragedy," Rhaegar finally said and did so delicately, "and if I was king I would consider it."

Kinslayer, the cold voice whispered inside her, hungry and growing, No one is more accursed than a kinslayer. She swallowed the swell before it could form in her throat. "That isn't good enough." She gripped her hands together to stop them from shaking. Woe to the kinslayer. They're damned. She didn't listen. Deliver me pain if this can deliver peace, she thought to the gods.

"If it were to come to pass," She began, "Allow me to mourn, allow me to travel to see my son, allow me a chance for peace."

Rhaegar didn't answer her right away. His expression offered her no peek into his heart and thoughts. "I'd give you my blessing to speak sense to Daeron."

"Swear it," She grabbed his arm, "Swear it to me."

He didn't flinch. He looked down, meeting her gaze. "I swear it," he said solemnly, "By the old gods and the new."

Our family's history is fire and blood. That night she paced in her chambers. How many times have we killed one another? Targaryen, Blackfyre, blood is blood. It was many, far too many. She stopped when she reached her looking glass. Rhaella inspected her appearance in the mirror, wearing a red gown that was nearly too large for her. I'm withering, frailer and smaller than what she had been in her youth. Her absence from her dear husband had allowed some of her old bruises to fade away. The lingering scars were more pale outlines than the angry red lines that he had unleashed on her in his bloody grip and hurtful squeezing.

She touched some of her pale hair that had slipped away from her braid. It took her just a few seconds to fix. She then went to the top drawer of her desk, opening it and quickly spotting what she wanted. It was a gift from her grandfather, Aegon the Unlikely. She picked up the beautiful brooch. He was against my parents' marriage, and mine, she could still remember him when she tried hard enough. It was difficult to hold since the screams of Summerhall always bled into such memories.

He didn't stop my father, but he still loved me. She looked down at the three headed ruby studded Targaryen dragon. It was hard to hate him like she hated her parents even when he gave them freedom that they denied her. She ran her thumb over one of the red dragon heads, it glinted in the candle light.

You are the blood of the dragon too, he had told her, he wanted me to be brave. She pinned it to her gown. I know what awaits me, and I accept it. With one last look, she turned away from her reflection and went to the door, grabbing a robe and slipping it on as she walked. She tied the cinch just before she reached the entrance.

"Your Grace?" The two Targaryen guards greeted her.

"The King is expecting me."

"Of course," The one on the left said, before stepping aside to let her pass. She did. She heard their footsteps following her. A rhythm to the footfalls, she tried to focus on as her own feet carried her towards him.

It was not a long walk, and standing outside the king's door was her knight, Ser Alliser. "Your Grace," he didn't look surprised to see her. His dark eyes almost seemed to soften before he turned to the other guards. "Thank you," he told them, "I will see to it the Queen's safe return."

The guards didn't argue. They weren't supposed to. They always listened to the orders of the kingsguard. They bowed their heads and left.

Ser Alliser moved to the door, opening it for her and then he stood aside.

She walked in with her head held high. She didn't flinch when the door closed behind her.

A noise almost animal-like greeted her arrival. A voice followed, "Who's there?"

She shuddered. Ignoring the pinpricks that seem to pierce her flesh at hearing his voice again. She didn't stop. Rhaella moved forward. "Your wife." Her eyes were on the four poster bed, its curtains were partly opened, but he was still out of view.

"My wife," It sounded like a purr, "come closer."

She did. She couldn't see him in the darkness. She could only hear him. She stood still, her hands at her sides. She refused to cower. She untied the cinch of her robe, shrugging it off, the cloth pooled at her feet. The cold air tickled her skin. She took a breath, "I heard you were unwell," she spoke to his shadow, "I've come to serve."

"Serve?" She didn't need to see him to know he was sneering. She knew her brother too well. "My little wife," she saw his long nails first, a gnarled hand followed as it gripped one of the bed poles, he pulled himself into the light and it took all of her control not to step back in fright. More monstrous than man.

His hair was stringy, falling around his face. His beard was longer than she remembered, disheveled and bushy. His face was gaunt, his eyes dark and sunken. His lips were chapped, and when he opened them to smile, she saw his yellow, rotting teeth. His tongue flicked out of his mouth like a serpent, wetting his lips. She felt his gaze on her skin. Like the peeling of a fruit with a knife, thin and cutting, pulling back to see more, to get more.

"You're the mother of a traitor," he snarled. "Daeron betrayed me," He jabbed a finger in her direction. The fingernail was yellowish, and cracking, long and curled, "You turned him against me!"

She wanted to shout. She wanted to lash out at him, curse him for what he did to her children, but she couldn't. Her defiance would be met harshly. She could not show him her strength yet. He must see me as he always has, docile and dim.

"I don't serve my sons," she said, "I serve my husband." She posed herself to look more enticing. Her revulsion bubbled within, but she kept it from spilling onto her expression. It threatened to crack when she knew it was working, seeing how he was taking her in. Give me strength.

"You serve me," he said, sounding as if he was tasting the words, mulling their meaning while his eyes continued to look her over with the hungry glint of a starving predator. "Yes," he bobbed his head, hair falling this way and that. "Yes," his voice cracking with glee, "My dear, loyal wife," he raised a clawed hand, beckoning to her, "Come, and I'll reward you."

"My husband is kind," She was demure, dipping her head before curtseying, angling herself to expose more of her flesh to him. "I serve at his pleasure." Can you hear my heartbeat? She wanted to ask him, as she made her way to him, it's the call of battle. It draws near.

He pushed himself off her like a drunken beast, falling onto his back and letting out a satisfied moan. He was spent and sated. He was mumbling happily to himself.

She didn't move. She ached from his touch. He wasn't gentle, but mercifully it was quick. She could feel the warm trickle of blood from where his nails dug too deep into her skin. She waited in the dark, hearing his raspy breath as it slowly calmed into a steady noise which she knew meant he was finally asleep.

Rhaella slipped out from under the blanket, careful in her movement, pausing when she was off the bed. She stopped and she waited, but her husband didn't stir. He only snored. She padded across the room, tentatively she moved not wanting to disrupt him. When she reached the door, she let out a tired breath. She opened the door, nudging just enough so she could speak, not wishing for the light of the corridor to flood her room, "Ser Alliser," she whispered even though she couldn't spot him.

"Yes, Your Grace?" He stepped into view.

"The King has requested I stay with him for the night."

"Very well, Your Grace," Ser Alliser didn't object. He served at the king's behest not hers. He may have been her sworn sword, but she could not turn and point him at her husband. This is my fight not his. "If that is his desire."

"It is," She didn't wait for him to answer before she shut the door. When it closed, she pressed her back to it and looked to see he was still sleeping.

Sometimes you must cut a hand or a foot to save the body. That was what she was doing, Severing a limb to stave off an infection, she was nearing the bed. Was there anything more rotten and dangerous than my own brother? She was closer. I'm saving us. She reached out and cautiously grabbed one of her pillows. If this will save my sons then I'll accept whatever cursed fate and terrible wrath awaits me.

Stitched into the curtains of their bed were patterns of the three headed dragon of their house. She could almost feel their eyes on her as she moved into position. She had a firm grip on the pillow. Even in his madness he couldn't see me as a foe. I couldn't be a threat. It was just over his head, but still, he didn't open his eyes. It was only the red sewn dragons who watched her.

You forgot brother, she pressed the pillow down over his face, I'm a dragon too.

In the course of a week she attended a funeral and a coronation.

Aerys was dead. May he burn in the Seven Hells for all eternity.

You will burn too, a voice was quick to remind her, to condemn her, but she'd gladly sacrifice her life to protect her sons. Aerys' madness threatened to cull their entire family, so she did what needed to be done. I did it for them. I had to. She reasoned with herself, What else was she to do?

She had dreamed of the day Rhaegar would be king when he was just a small babe in her arms. She prayed to the gods to protect him, to give him wisdom, to give him strength to endure his father, to give him a mind unblemished with madness. She wished for it so long because her boy's coronation would mean she was safe from Aerys, that her brother was dead, and she was beyond his torturous grasp.

Rhaella played the mourning widow at her brother's funeral. There was no suspicion of her brother's death. Why would there be? She was the timid wife, who shrieked when she awoke the next morning to discover Aerys cold and unresponsive. Babbling when the guards and knights came in. Frantic when the acolytes inspected his body. An act that was hard to play when she waited with what they would say. Would they cry murder? Kinslayer? Kingslayer? The tension wove painful knots in her stomach, tightening as the minutes passed before they finally announced: He died in his sleep.

Aerys was not a king who inspired loyalty. The people grieve, but it's a lie. They wanted this to happen so when it did, who were they to ask questions? Aerys was dead and that's all that mattered. His reign was over.

The days passed painfully slowly as she waited to depart for the Westerlands. Each day, the worry gnawed more and more onto her happiness, chipping away at it. She had wanted to leave after her son was crowned, Rhaegar Targaryen the first of his name, but he thought it better to wait a day or so. He claimed that some of the roads between here and the Westerlands may not be safe. She listened, knowing he wouldn't lie to her.

He swore to me. That's what she told herself when the worry tried to wrap around her like a serpent. He swore to me. My son wouldn't lie to me. Her faith had been rewarded when he came to her last night to give her permission for the journey. She planned and packed as fast as she could so she could leave just as quickly.

"Your Grace,"

She turned, "Yes?"

"Your trunks are being loaded," the guard informed her.

"Wonderful," she smiled in thanks, "Please alert them that I'll be down shortly."

"At once, Your Grace," The guard bowed and left.

It was finally happening. Soon, I'll see Daeron. She hadn't seen him since he had her and Viserys sent to the Stormlands. His words and his warnings, before the memory could settle over her, she heard heavy footfalls thinking it was the guards ready to escort her, but when she turned to greet them. It wasn't her guards. It was her son, Rhaegar and with him was Ser Arthur Dayne, the new lord commander. "Mother,"

"What?" There was a tightness in her chest.

"You're not going."

"You swore to me," She shook her head, not believing her son could be so deceitful, "You promised I could-"

"Things have changed," Rhaegar took her anger with an impassive stare.

"What?" She asked, "What has changed?"

"It's your son, Your Grace," Varys slipped inside the room. His head bowed with his hands tucked away in the folds of his sleeves, when he raised his head to look at her. There was sympathy in his eyes and in his voice. "We've received word."

"Word of what?"

"Daeron has crowned himself King, Mother," Rhaegar said tightly, "There can be no peace now."

Her legs trembled. She grabbed the back of a chair to keep herself steady. She barely heard the orders he gave to her guards to retrieve her trunks informing them that her trip was canceled. She didn't react when her son and his men left.

Two crowns, but only one throne. Rhaella Targaryen could hear the gods laughing at her.