Ned:
Is this letter for me or for him? Ned wondered after he had finished it. Who is he trying to convince?
Brandon's letter was in Ned's hands, but it felt as heavy as a boulder.
His brother wrote about how some houses had come to him in the last year: Ryswell, Glover, Dustin, Umber, and others, more than Ned would've thought. All of them voiced their frustration at how their father was only looking south for his children's marriages.
Ned had to come out here to think. Here was the stone balcony adjoined to his and Ashara's chambers.
My castle, he was quick to amend that with our castle. His and Ashara's. It was this keep that allowed him to be able to take her as his wife. This castle where they started their lives as husband and wife.
It did not have the history of a Winterfell or a Storm's End. It wasn't built like Casterly Rock or the Eyrie. It wasn't a palace of pleasure like Summerhall. It wasn't like any of them and perhaps that's why he cherished it so much.
It was a large circular round keep and at its back were two tall, adjoining towers. It was built with stone and timber on the foundations of older keeps. Here on the bones of the castles that came before it did Ned and Ashara plant their future together.
At the top of the towers you could see Shipbreaker Bay. It was less than a half day's ride to reach it. The sea air would slice through the trees at high gusts or the caw of birds could be heard overhead. The sound of waves breaking and the churning of seas and storms washed over them.
Robert claimed that Storm's End was directly across Shipbreaker Bay to where Ned's castle was. On a clear day perhaps you could see me wave. He had joked.
Lyanna had dubbed it the rabbit castle. Ned was hoping that name didn't stick. She and Benjen were staying with them so that they could all travel to the Tournament of Harrenhal together. They were planning on leaving the day after next. They'd ride to Storm's End to go the rest of the way with Robert's retinue.
His sister had said that if you could look at it from above it would look like the shape of a rabbit's head. She then mimicked the ears with her fingers. Ned did point out that there was a bridge that connected the two towers over the round keep which would mar this rabbit image that Lyanna was insisting on. His sister's rebuttal was swift and succinct. She rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him.
At the top of the right tower was the lord's wing which included their room and solar. The chambers he and Ashara shared as husband and wife were small in comparison to the rooms at Winterfell. They didn't lavish their rooms with gold or gems like Lannisters. The rooms were simple and sparse. Besides the colors of their new house, black and white, Ashara used House Dayne and Stark colors too when decorating the other parts of their castle.
She had already put up tapestries that depicted famous stories from Houses Stark and Dayne. The newest tapestry that had been added was Ned's favorite because it told the tale of him and Ashara in a series of pictures which ended with them standing outside their new castle. He had that put that up in their great hall. The tapestry was either so large or their hall so small because it perfectly ringed along the walls.
The top of their tower had two balconies, one on both sides. The one connected to the lord's room faced north towards Shipbreaker Bay. There was still a forest of trees between them, but the bay could be seen. The other balcony was attached to the lord's solar. It looked to the south and deeper into the Rainwood. Ned found him alternating between the balconies depending on his mood.
Today, he was on the side that looked out at Shipbreaker Bay. The air smelled like a mixture of salt and pine. He took a breath, already feeling more relaxed. The distant sound of the sea was soothing. His new home was helping to ease the stresses that Winterfell, the home he left behind were causing him.
Here, I am in the Stormlands in my new keep and my heart and mind drift to the north, to his family, to the Stark of Winterfell.
The only thing missing is Ashara. She had gone riding with Lyanna. His lady wife wanted to become better acquainted with her new dornish sand steed, which had been a wedding gift from Jaime and Elia Lannister. Ned had been gifted one too. He and Ashara had taken them out together yesterday. They had found a trail through the woods that took them to a secluded spot right on the water which provided them a beautiful view of Shipbreaker Bay.
He looked down at the letter. His wife's wisdom and counsel were sorely needed. Ned was trying his best, but he appreciated her perspective. She had a way of seeing things that he couldn't. She saw politics where Ned just felt headaches. She saw plans where Ned just saw words.
My brother wanted me well rehearsed in courtly intrigue, she had told him with an elegant shrug. He believed it would be needed since he envisioned I'd have a life in the capital.
Ned remembered that all too painfully. It was a shadow that had fallen over him. A gloom that had nested in his chest in those years when her brother would not consider Ned. In the halls of her ancestors, he had flatly refused Ned's offer. He had sent his sister to the capital to marry a Targaryen prince, not the second son of Lord Stark. He wanted her to be Rhaegar's Queen or Daeron's princess, not a Lady of a small holdfast.
The way she smiled afterwards showed Ned that she was very happy to call him husband and this small castle their home. I didn't want a dragon. I wanted a wolf.
A choice I'm thankful for every day.
Ned looked back at Brandon's letter to try to read it through Ashara's eyes instead of his own. It proved to be no easy thing. When he read it over all he saw was Brandon's messy scrawl. His brother didn't use flowery language. His way of writing was like a dagger, short and sharp and to the point. The words jabbed at Ned, prickling at him as Brandon described unrest in the north.
Were these parries from Brandon? He thought, defending himself by going on the attack.
The northern lords were the part that he kept coming back to. He lost count how many times he read those few lines. He wanted to quickly deny them to call it selfish ambitions on their part, but there was truth behind them. Father was overlooking his bannermen. He had secured a Tully bride for Brandon, he approved of Ned's marriage to Ashara and Ned knew their father wanted to match Lyanna with a southern lord. He planned for his three oldest children to be tied to southern families instead of northern bannermen.
Did that make their concerns justified?
"Ned?"
She was already wrapping her arms around him as he was still turning to the sound of her voice. She smelled of the sea. She was stunning, He took in her frazzled appearance with a smile. Her face flushed from the ride. Her hair fell more limply around her, damp with sweat. She was dressed in simple riding clothes but she looked as beautiful in them as if she was in one of her gowns.
"How was your ride?"
"Lyanna tried to steal Vorian."
Vorian, was the name Ashara had given her Dornish sand steed. The horse's coloring was mostly black with some white powdered in. She thought it a fitting name since Vorian was the last Dayne king, and he was known as the Sword of the Evening.
Ned laughed, "Did she really?"
His amusement earned him a gentle slap on his shoulder, but her violet eyes were glimmering. "She did." She put her hands on her hips, feigning displeasure. "We rode to the beach and we then went out to walk, but when the wind got a bit colder, she suggested we go back, I agreed," Ashara's tone was playful. She was clearly enjoying herself by retelling the tale. "Your sister is never one for patience, Ned," She rolled her eyes, "So she went off ahead and when I climbed over the last embankment I see her trying to get on Vorian."
"Oh?" Ned had no trouble conjuring or believing that. "What did she say when she saw you?"
"I told her that was my horse," Ashara was smiling, "Lyanna got off, confessing she accidentally had mistaken mine for hers," She was giggling now. "She got Vorian, my prized Dornish sand steed the color of night confused with her courser, whose coat is pale as snow."
"I could see that," Ned was trying but failing to sound as if he was seriously considering Lyanna's excuse, "They're both horses, four legs, a mane, a tail, a-" Ashara silenced him with a kiss. "On second thought," Ned corrected himself after his wife's powerful form of persuasion, "I'll throw her out of the castle by nightfall."
His words brought out her lovely laughter. "What's this?" The mirthful shine in her eyes fading. She had just noticed the letter in his hand.
Ned handed it to her without thought or hesitation. "It's from Brandon."
She accepted it with the softest of hums. Ned watched her read. He could not help it, she was mesmerizing. Her lips were slightly pursed, her brows knitted in concentration while her eyes flickered over the words.
Once or twice she would look over the parchment to catch him staring. The first time she did nothing, the second time she winked at him. She'd then gone back to reading and tried not to giggle at how she could befuddle him so quickly and effortlessly.
He sat himself down in one of the cushioned chairs that they had brought out for their use. She followed his movement still reading to place herself in the seat right beside him. She had barely adjusted to sitting before she looked up at him.
New knew Ashara to be thorough so he didn't mind waiting. She probably read it at least a handful of times. Looking at different words, searching for meanings or trying to find what wasn't there with each attempt. "What do you think?"
"Do you think Brandon would've reached out to Prince Rhaegar?"
"No," Ned saw his answer didn't seem to surprise her if anything she looked to have been expecting it.
Ashara's hands were folded in her lap. She looked to be considering her words carefully. "Then there must be a reason why Rhaegar chose to write to your brother and not your father."
Ned had found that strange as well. His father was the Lord of Winterfell not Brandon. So why would the prince seek out the heir and not the lord?
"If Brandon agreed it would bring the north behind Rhaegar," Ned said, "But he could accomplish the same thing by writing to my father."
"So why didn't he?" Ashara already looked to be considering several different answers.
Ned looked out towards the bay while he tried to think of any reason why the crown prince would precede in this manner with his family, but no answers were forthcoming, only a headache. I am not made for this scheming.
"What if he didn't trust your father so he sought out Brandon instead," she said softly as if they were in the crowded great hall back at the Red Keep and not outside on their small balcony just the two of them.
"My father's Lord of Winterfell not Brandon."
She gracefully stood up, walking towards the stone railing of their balcony. Her hands resting upon it. "Will Brandon step aside?"
"No," Ned knew his brother to be too proud and brash to accept a punishment that severe. He would fight against it and Brandon wouldn't be alone. His brother had friends in the north, who'd care more about him being the next Lord of Winterfell then they ever did about Lady Catelyn being the next Lady of Winterfell. And if his agreement was with Rhaegar then he must have the prince's support too.
"Would your father disown him?"
"I do not know," Ned answered honestly, breaking a betrothal was a breach of trust, an insult, but disinheriting Brandon? He was not sure. Disinheritance and breaking a betrothal neither were things to take lightly. Father was not impulsive like Brandon. He was more careful. He would consider anything and everything before deciding on a course of action.
What have you done, Brandon? He sighed, You've made a mess of the north.
Ashara's eyes widened and he realized he must've voiced his frustrations out loud. "What if the Prince wanted that." She was quiet for a few heartbeats as if trying to think it over to herself before voicing it.
"He must've believed that your father would raise the north against him," She murmured, with a pensive look in his direction.
Against him? The air seemed to grow colder around them. Ned knew what she was referring to.
There's trouble brewing in the capital between King Aerys and his oldest son, Rhaegar.
"Why would he think that my father would fight for Aerys?"
"I do not think it's his father, Rhaegar feared the north would fight for. It's his brother."
Rhaella:
It was a rare thing for her to feel so she tried to enjoy it whenever it occured.
Rhaella Targaryen was happy.
She sat quietly listening to the idle chatter happening all around her. She smiled and hummed while working on her embroidery. All of them were so young, happy, and hopeful. They talked excitedly of babes and weddings that were to come and the new households they'd inherit and the new lands they'd visit.
Rhaella could feel the dreariness leave her bones. The discomfort and the aches fading away to the smiles and laughter. Rhaella heard their wicked teases and infectious giggling and she no longer felt like the weary and worn Queen that she was.
The two sitting closest to her were the only daughters she was likely to have. On her right was Princess Laela, while on the left was Lady Cersei. The former had already given her a beautiful and healthy grandson and was with child again. Rhaella was hoping for a girl.
To have a granddaughter to hold and nurture, she thought fondly of swaddling the baby girl and watching her grow with silvery curls and shining eyes. Rhaella loved her sons with all of her heart, but she had always wanted a daughter. Those the Mother allowed her to birth were far too quickly and cruelly put into graves instead of the cradle.
I will get a daughter soon enough. It would not be the birthing bed, but the marriage bed that would give her a second daughter. She looked to her side to see Cersei was plainly bored with the needles, but was still dutifully working on her stitching.
I'm not too old for more children, but her brother's touch did not leave her wanting or hoping, but grimacing and bruised. The only mercy he showed her was never staying the night.
Rhaella looked down at the black cloth she was working on. The Targaryen three headed dragon's outline was nearly complete. She inspected the red stitching, pleased with her work.
Fanned out around the room were more of the ladies-in-waiting for Princess Laela including Ladies Whent, Waynwood, Hightower, Darry, and others from the Westerlands that had accompanied Lady Cersei. She did not know all of their names, but their conversing was rejuvenating.
"That isn't red and gold, Cersei," Laela pointed out with a puzzled brow. "I thought you were making something with your family's colors."
"It isn't," Cersei confirmed. She held up to show what she had been working on. The three headed Targaryen dragon had a red body, but its necks and heads had yet to be finished. "They'll be my new family's colors when I'm at Summerhall."
"Of course," Laela smiled sweetly at her future goodsister, "You must be excited for that day."
"I am," Cersei's smile matched hers, "The castle is beautiful and lovely. I'm anxious to move in," Her eyes did not hold the same warmth as her smile. "To live with my husband."
"I know that feeling all too well," Laela said with a sympathetic nod.
"You've handled the transition so ably," Cersei praised, "No one would blame you if you struggled, a woman from Essos not understanding the intricacies of court or the various noble houses, both great and small," She pointed out. "There are always lessons to be learned so we must always stay sharp . Mistakes can lead to insults, and misunderstandings. You wouldn't want that would you, Princess ?"
"I would not, Cersei," Laela's exotic lilt seemed more pronounced despite the princess' usual deftness at minimizing it. "I'm just glad to know my husband has so many stalwart allies he can call upon if I am in need of help." Some of the girls around the princess preened at this perceived compliment.
"He does," Cersei agreed, "good friends can get us through bad times. Don't you agree?"
"They can."
The two were staring at one another. Their tones were honeyed, but Rhaella saw the barbs that were lurking beneath. Their smiles appeared sweet, but the veneers were as clear as glass. Cersei's eyes were warm, but not like the cozy embers of a hearth, but of the wild and lashing flames of wildfire. While Laela's beckoned warnings not friendship.
The bickering has spread to my daughters. Her heart was trembling beneath her chest. All this division and derision amidst her family.
Is this the dragon's curse? Was too many just as dangerous as too few?
"Your Grace?"
"Yes?" She turned to her good daughter.
"I fear I must depart," she said regretfully, "I must tend to my son." Laela's eyes moved towards Cersei, "the obligations of being a mother," She was resting one of her hands atop her stomach.
"You will give my love to Aegon?"
"I will," Laela's smile was real, she then gestured for her ladies to grab their things and to follow her. "I look forward to your next visit, Cersei."
"As do I."
Their smiles were sharper than swords while their eyes stared daggers at each other.
Rhaella waited until the last of Laela's ladies-in-waitings were gone. "Lady Cersei?"
"Yes, Your Grace?"
"I wish to spend the remainder of the afternoon with you."
Her future good daughter looked surprised, but delighted. "I would be honored."
"Good," Rhaella needed a reprieve. "How about a stroll?"
"Wonderful," Cersei stood to join her. She didn't look the least bit disappointed in leaving either her embroidery or her own ladies-in-waiting behind.
They walked out of the chambers together where Ser Alliser greeted them, "Your Grace?"
"We're going for a walk, Ser Alliser."
"Very well, Your Grace," he dipped his head and moved to follow behind them.
They began their walk with no real direction in mind.
Cersei was waiting for her to speak first. Rhaella looked over to see her green eyes were on her. There was a small, almost shy smile on her lips. She couldn't help but think of Cersei's parents when looking at her.
It brought back memories of better days when they'd sit and laugh together into the late hours of the evening. Her parents ruled the kingdoms, while they dreamed of theirs. They'd converse about everything and anything. She hadn't loved her brother like a husband then, but looking back Rhaella thought that was the only time she and him really got along. That was when the threads of respect and hope hadn't all been severed between them.
Hopes for their marriage.
Hopes for their children.
Hopes for their reign.
"Your Grace?" It appeared Cersei grew tired of waiting.
It made Rhaella smile. The girl beside her had a restlessness that was all her own. "I was happy to hear how lovely Summerhall is coming along."
"It is," Cersei's smile here was not forced as it had been when she had been speaking to Laela. "It will be a wonderful home for Daeron and myself."
Rhaella didn't miss the way she said her son's name. It was not just Summerhall that had come along well, she noted happily, but also her son's relationship with his future wife.
Her own memories of the palace were filled with smoke and panic, fire, and woe. She had been given Rhaegar that day, but so much of her family had been taken from her. So much and so many lost.
They were walking through an open corridor. To their right they could look down onto the training yard. She heard the clash of swords, the grunts and curses as well as their laughter and japes. They exchanged wagers and insults.
"How did your father take Elia's pregnancy?"
"He was very pleased," Cersei answered after giving it a little thought. "So pleased that he actually hugged her," she said it softly like it was some secret scandal.
"Did he now?" Rhaella was amused, aware of how reserved the Hand of the King appeared to all those save a few. "What of your mother? Did they write to her?" She knew Joanna would be so happy and excited, remembering how she was when she was pregnant with the twins.
She mourned the friendship Aerys had stolen from her. I had to send her away to save her from my husband.
"Mother doesn't know," Cersei's eyes seemed to sparkle with mischief, "Jaime wants to tell her in person."
"Your father agreed to this?" Rhaella knew those two kept nothing from each other.
"He didn't," Cersei admitted, "All he said was that he might try to forget to send the raven with the news to give them a chance to reach the Rock before his letter could."
Rhaella laughed, the Hand of the King surprised her and she found it delightful. Cersei joined her. Their arms were now intertwined. The mirth was so rejuvenating for the Queen. She was pleased to discover that Cersei had inherited some of her mother's charm and her lovely laugh too.
This reminded her of better days with her dear friends Joanna and Princess Mariah. They were as close as sisters. The three of them had always wanted their children to marry, she was pleased to see it fulfilled. Mariah's daughter had married Joanna's son and Rhaella's son was set to marry Joanna's daughter. She was sad that Mariah had not lived to see her daughter wed. Rhaella missed her, Joanna too, but to protect her friend she had to let her go. One day, I hope we can start anew.
They were walking in the godswood. Their merriment had taken away their sense of direction. The two of them following the stone path that moved through the grass like a grey snake. She did not venture here as often now as she had in her youth. It had become more draining on her, exhausted by the role she had to play to all those she saw and all those who saw her.
How can one smile when married to a monster? How can one pretend to be happy through all the blood and tears?
The smiles start to hurt as much as the scars.
They passed under some elm trees whose branches provided her some needed shade. The fabric of her high collar was bothering her since it either rubbed irriatibly against her or would stick to her neck because of the sweat. It was too hot for this style, but she wore it because it hid the red marks that were speckled along her skin, made by teeth and nails.
In reflecting about her misery with Aerys she couldn't help but think of the future happiness her son would have with the woman beside her. Let their marriage flourish instead of wither like mine.
"I am thankful at seeing you and my son so happy together," Rhaella noticed a little color come to the girl's cheeks, but decided not to inquire after her blush.
"I only regret it took me so long to see," she confessed, her tone contrite.
"What's important is that you did," Rhaella gently reminded her, "And that you two will be together." That was when she saw something brief, but angry flicker in the girl's green eyes.
"Let us rest for a moment," Rhaella suggested, wondering what she just saw. They found a bench which had been placed under a tall alder tree that would put them entirely under the shade. Above their heads the birds were chirping happily as if to greet them. "Is something troubling you?"
"No, Your Grace," She said quickly, surprise flashing across her face before ducking her head. "I just hope to marry your son after the tournament."
Rhaella wasn't convinced, but she didn't press further. She smiled instead. "I hope so too."
She found him waiting for her at the end of the corridor.
"Mother," he greeted her.
"My son," She kissed his cheek. Daeron's lilac eyes were the same color as her mother's, but they had never shown the warmth that her son's did.
"I can delay your visit," He must have sensed her apprehension.
"No," she appreciated his concern, but Aerys was a constant that she could not hide from. "Let us not keep him waiting."
She took his offered arm and they walked towards the end of the corridor where two Targaryen men-at-arms stood on guard duty, the door between them. Ser Aliser Thorne and Ser Gwayne Gaunt were walking a respectful distance behind them.
He stopped her when they were close to the door, but not close enough to be heard by the men. Daeron's expression was unreadable when he looked at her. "Do you trust me, Mother?"
"Of course," She was surprised not just by the question, but the need of it.
He looked relieved. "Good," He smiled at her, "I just want you to know that what I do is to help you."
"Daeron?"
His eyes remained on her for a few more breaths. "All will be different, Mother," She was taken aback by how serious and sincere he sounded. "I promise."
You cannot promise such things my son, she wanted to tell him. You cannot protect me like you can Cersei.
When they reached the door, Daeron removed Dark Sister giving it to Ser Gwayne in keeping with her husband's rule that none save his kingsguard were allowed to be armed in his presence.
Her fingers instinctively dug into her son's arm when the door opened but he said nothing of any discomfort. She steadied her breathing and walked with her head high.
Aerys Targarayen greeted them with a scowl. He was sitting in his high back chair. Standing behind him were Sers Barristan Selmy and Jonothor Darry. They both dipped their heads to them, but said nothing.
Her brother's hair was a dirty, tangled mess that fell limply all around his face, and down past his shoulders. His beard was stringy and uncombed. His hands were resting on the arms of his seat. His fingernails were yellow, long, and gnarled. His outfit may have been presentable if it was clean, but the black tunic with red stitching was dirty and torn. His trousers were just as black, dirty, and wrinkled.
"Father," Daeron spoke first.
Rhaella dropped into a curtsey, "My king."
"My wife," He said mockingly, before he turned his attention towards Daeron, "And my son."
"You may leave us," The King waved a hand, "Stand outside and make sure we're not interrupted."
The kingsguard knights looked confused but obeyed. She did not blame them for their confusion, Aerys always kept them close. He watched them go with contempt as if they were daggers in his back instead of the shields they were.
"Come closer, my son."
Rhaella felt the shiver of fear go down her back at seeing how her husband was looking at him. Please, no, she was praying quietly, lips moving while her heartbeat began to grow quicker with worry.
"Are you the king?"
"No, father," Daeron knelt in front of him.
Too close, too close, she took a step forward instinctively hoping her brother didn't see.
"And yet you gave me an ORDER?!"
"It was only a suggestion, father," Daeron dipped his head to shy away from Aerys' outrage. "I told you, but it was you who could decide, never me."
"Never you," Aerys repeated the words. His clawed hand reached for Daeron. His nails were pricking at his face, but her son said nothing. "Do you hear me?" He gripped Daeron's chin. It looked tight and painful. "Never you."
"Yes, father," Daeron's voice wilted a little because of his father's grasp, "Never me."
It was no easy thing what her son had to endure. It was dangerous to be in this king's presence, to be at his mercy. It was delicate and difficult to navigate. Rhaella thought he was one of the few who handled it so deftly. To the ignorant, he'd look meek, but only a fool would approach Aerys differently. She called it a strength to be so undaunted in the face of such an unpredictable and dangerous force that is her husband.
"What is this?" Regardless of her son's skill she still wanted her husband to let go of him. "My king."
Aerys' head darted up at her, pinning her with a scathing look. "It's not your concern, sister."
Rhaella lowered her head, but it had worked. He relinquished his hold on their son.
Mollified, Aerys' gaze was back on him. "Now speak of this matter you so urgently needed to discuss with me."
"The upcoming tournament at Harrenhal." His voice was steady, "It is not what it appears, father."
"What?" Aerys' question was a sharp shrill. He narrowed his eyes looking down at their son. "What do you mean?"
"Rhaegar's behind it, father."
No, Rhaella felt as if her heart was being squeezed by hot pinsirs.
Do you trust me, Mother? His question from moments ago rang in her ears. She had answered so quickly and confidently, but watching this unfold, she could only wonder what he was doing.
"Rhaegar," Aerys hissed.
"He is plotting against you. He is plotting against us."
"Us?" One of his hands was on Daeron's shoulder.
"Yes, father," Daeron said, "You are the king."
Aerys' bobbed his head. "I am the king."
"You are."
His long fingernails began to squeeze around Daeron's shoulder like a falcon grasping its prey. "You were right to come to me."
"Thank you, father."
"Rhaegar fights for himself," Aerys didn't let go, "Why are you fighting?"
"I fight for the Iron Throne, my king."
"Yes, you do," Aerys agreed, looking pleased, "Why else would you be here if not to fight for me?"
"Yes, father," Daeron's voice was hinting at the pain he must be feeling since Aerys' nails were digging deeper into his shoulder, piercing skin. She could see the red that was seeping through his shirt.
Aerys looked him over for a long heartbeat in scowling silence before he let go. He then examined his nails that were painted by his son's own blood. He twiddled his fingers and blood drops rained down on the floor and he laughed.
His smile was not a pleasant sight to behold. Beneath dirty, tangled hair, it was all yellow teeth, and the gleam in his eyes only made it that more frightening.
"I will go to Harrenhal," he announced, "And the Seven Kingdoms will have the honor of seeing their king." He raised his hands as if presenting himself to be a prize to covet and not the punishment he really was.
Rhaella stilled her expression to hide her disbelief. Her brother had not left the Red Keep since Duskendale, for him to leave now for this tournament. It was hard to believe. It was even harder to accept why he was leaving.
He leaves because of Rhaegar, she was not certain what her son was planning. He leaves because of Daeron. She could not understand his intentions by informing his father of his brother's plans.
Her heart cracked like glass beneath her chest. Has Aerys' poison finally taken hold of them? Her legs wobbled beneath her, but she remained standing.
"So they will," Daeron said quietly, he then looked over his shoulder to her. His determined expression couldn't be marred despite the scratches covering his face. "Father, I have a request."
"A request?" He pursed his lips, looking at him warily.
"I believe Mother and Viserys should leave the city."
"Do you?" His voice was dangerously soft.
She noticed that while Daeron was still crouching he appeared to have moved back a step or two and was now out of Aerys' reach.
"Yes, to Storm's End or to Summerhall."
A laugh burst from Aerys' lips. "And why would I do that?"
"Because you need me," Daeron met his father's stare. "You need me against Rhaegar."
No! Invisible claws seemed to wrap around her throat, digging and cutting into her flesh. No, not like this.
There was no more mocking glint in his eyes. Aerys' fingers twitched on the armrest, but he did not speak.
"When you gave me Dark Sister you told me to use it to protect you, my king against your enemies from both outside our family and within." Daeron stood from his crouching position. He looked like he was mauled by some beast. His face was covered in scratches, while his tunic was torn and bloodied.
"That's what I'm doing, Father. If you do not believe me then," He pointed to the door, "They can keep Dark Sister and you can reward it to another servant of the crown." Daeron didn't waver. "But you said a good king rewards good service. That's what I'm asking to be my reward. That mother and Viserys are to be kept away from Rhaegar's plotting."
She saw what Daeron was truly asking: He wasn't protecting them from Rhaegar. He was trying to protect them from Aerys.
Rhaella felt the tears in her eyes. It is done. She felt the cold anguish lodge itself in her chest. My sons, my sons, The cold spread through her. I've birthed them only to watch them battle one another.
Aerys had been unusually quiet. He was staring at Daeron with a look she had not seen on her brother in a long time. It did not comfort her, because it was worse than his mania. It was sly and vicious.
Then he smiled, it came painfully slow to his lips because she knew what it would mean to her, to Daeron, to her sons, their family.
"Agreed."