Ned:
It let out one final, pitiful wail, a mournful trumpeting noise that sent a cold shiver through him before it finally died. The elephant's head drooped, its trunk sunk, hitting the ground with a soft thud, sending up a cloud of dirt. Its large eyes remained open and were staring lifelessly at him. Its body was peppered with arrows, but it was Ned's spear that had been what fell the creature. It now stuck out like a long, jagged tooth, lodged in the elephant's flesh below the neck. The Golden Company banner that had draped the elephant clung limply to its hide like a second skin, with dirt and blood stains.
The battle had been over for some time, but this poor creature lingered on. Ned had seen to his duties, including checking on his men, and reporting to Robert, and when that was all done, he had returned to his vigil. After striking the blow, he had tried to near the animal to put it out of its misery like a lame horse, but the elephant blustered with its flailing trunk, jutting tusks, and warning cry.
There was something unsettling about the elephant's dying gaze. The sheen of intelligence and awareness that he did not feel when looking at a dog or a horse. The elephants had overwhelmed them in their first battle with the Golden Company, sending their horses and soldiers into a panic. The defeat would've turned into a disaster if Robert had not called for the retreat when he did. Ned would not forget his friend's anger at quitting the field.
We got our revenge, Ned couldn't take his eyes off the elephant corpse, and our victory. He had heard stories of these exotic creatures, but tales could not truly capture them. Their size was a sight to behold, and their scent was enough to send even the strongest warhorse into a confused frenzy. This had not been the only elephant on the battlefield. The Golden Company had brought many, but in the course of the battle, they fell or fled. A fleeing elephant crushed friend and foe alike. Ned had watched two of the Company's own elephants stampede through their ranks, terrified and enraged. Their charge scattered the mercenaries like they were wooden soldiers.
"Ned!"
He turned to see his friend approach. Ned did not believe in the Seven, but he thought if there was a Warrior, he'd look like Robert did when his friend was in his armor.
"What a kill, Ned," Robert clapped him on the back. The Lord of Storm's End was grinning. His armor was muddied with a few scrapes. On his arm clung a tightly knotted gray band which he knew had been a gift from Lyanna.
"I didn't do it alone," He did not share his friend's excitement or enthusiasm for what he had done. It was duty, plain and simple.
There were beads of sweat along Robert's brow, but there seemed no weariness in his expression or stance. "It was your plan."
"It was a risk." He thought the word plan was too generous. There was no certainty it would work. After witnessing the elephants smashing through their tightly formed ranks, he thought it better to loosen them. So instead of their forces being too clustered which made it easy for the elephants to overwhelm them, he devised a ploy to let the elephants charge right past them. It worked better than he had thought it would. Once they passed, it was easier for them to reach and hit their vulnerable backs, and exposed legs which they did with arrows, spears, and any other weapon they could find.
Robert snorted, "A risk, he says," he shook his head, still smiling. "It was bloody brilliant!" He walked past Ned right over to the fallen elephant. "This would make a fine trophy." He then grabbed one of the tusks, "You should hang these in your hall." He let go of the ivory and turned to Ned, "Not many can boast of killing such a magnificent creature, but it still only counts as one."
Ned hid his frown. His friend had this grim game of counting and comparing their kills. It was not a contest that he wanted to partake in so Robert would just keep the count for both of them. "What of the survivors?"
"Not many," he answered, anger came over Robert's expression, darkening his countenance like a sudden storm cloud. "They killed Jon," his voice a rough rumble of words that sounded like the tumbling rocks of a landslide, "And we destroyed them." His hand was clenched into a great fist.
He would not forget his friend's rage in their retreat from the first battle. Ned had thought his friend would choose violence over wisdom. To continue fighting to try to drag themselves to victory despite the broken fragments their army was splintering off into. But he didn't. Robert had killed the sellsword who had killed Jon, and five others in a black rage before grabbing Jon's body. He then shouted the retreat in a voice that struck the battlefield like a thunderbolt. Robert carried Jon the whole way. Refusing to let anyone else try to help.
"Milord!"
Ned and Robert turned to see someone running towards them.
"News from the king!"
That was when the messenger caught the attention of the others he passed, who were now drifting in after him in growing groups.
"What news?" Robert demanded.
"The war is over. Rhaegar is dead," The messenger's voice was lost in a tumult of celebration. None were louder than Robert's.
It's over, he was flooded with relief. I'll see them, the dread that had nested in his heart of never seeing his wife again or seeing their babe melted away in an instant. The war was over, and Ned Stark was going to see his family.
"Elephants!"
Robert's booming voice broke Ned's concentration, the smatter of laughter that followed made him smile. Ned looked around the table to see them all there, together, alive. The stories and laughter that spread between them made it easy for him to think that this was one of their many times together before the war, but it wasn't. Still, there was comfort to be found in the camaraderie, a burden they all shared, they had all witnessed even though they did not all fight together, they all saw battles and blood, death and despair.
For months, Ned wondered about them, hearing scant reports and idle gossip, and hoping to never receive a message that would come with the news that one of them was dead. It had been hard enough to leave Ashara behind, but at least she was at the Rock. However, the babe in her belly brought fresh worry, aware that birthing beds could be as bloody as battlefields. It was the source of many restless nights. Almost all those he cared about seemed to be fighting, their lives were thin threads that could be severed any day.
Oberyn nursed his drink, perfectly relaxed. Jaime sat across from his good brother like Ned, they shared a burden of leaving behind pregnant wives. At Jaime's side and across from Ned sat Robert, who appeared just as revitalized as Ned felt at reuniting with their friends. While at the head of their table sat their friend and king. Daeron was smiling, dressed in black silk with dragons emblazoned on it. His crown rested comfortably atop his head.
"It sounds like a tremendous battle," Daeron observed, "I would've liked to see those famed archers of the Golden Company when they saw you leading the charge onto their position."
"Shit their pants they did," Robert said to laughter, "Could smell the stink before we reached them," He then clapped his hands together-hard as if to demonstrate what had happened when his charge of knights smashed into the unsuspecting sellswords.
The mercenaries had then deployed their elephants to try to recover from that devastating charge, but that had been when Ned's plan had been put into effect. Stymied, the Golden Company held a valiant last stand, outnumbered, they cut down many, but trapped between vengeful Vale lords who sought retribution and the wrathful stormlords they eventually collapsed.
"Still, I didn't get any valyrian steel sword," Robert clapped Jaime on the back with enough force to cause Jaime's wine to slosh out of his cup and spill onto the table.
"Waste of good wine," Oberyn put in.
Jaime frowned in his direction. "I didn't do it on purpose." He sent a pointed look at Robert, who laughed it off.
A servant came forward to clean the mess while another went around the table to refill their cups.
Robert said his thanks when his tankard was full before taking a long sip from it. "Could you imagine, Cousin? Hunting one of those creatures?"
"Myself? No," Daeron replied, "You, yes."
"I did hear you brought an elephant back," Oberyn observed, "Is that why?"
Robert shook his head. "I may think it fun, but I am not that stupid." He put up a warning finger when Jaime opened his mouth to refute that second point. Grinning, he turned back to Daeron, "It is my gift to you, an elephant from the Golden Company," He said, "and I'll say it was bloody difficult to catch so you best be grateful," Robert's tone conveyed his jovial mood despite the threatening bluster.
Ned silently agreed. He had been there when they went after it. It had been a day after the battle, when they were marching that they stumbled across it. It was wandering aimlessly and seemed confused. Luckily, they still had a few sellsword prisoners including a former elephant handler, who were talked into helping catch the creature,
"My thanks, Cousin," Daeron seemed pleased at the gift, a tribute to their friend and king. "You've done the crown a great service by ridding us of those troublesome sellswords."
"Which reminds me," Robert turned to one of the servants, making a gesture, the servant scurried out, "Since you are the king and all, Cousin," he stood from his seat, and walked around the table. "I present to you the remnants of the once vaunted Golden Company."
The first thing to enter the tent were the famous golden banners that they carried into battle, then the infamous ones which included the gilded skulls of their previous commanders. Next came the chests of gold and other valuables, circulating around the tent for Daeron's inspection. It was a glimpse of the war booty they had collected after defeating and destroying the Golden Company.
"I thank you, Cousin," Daeron sounded impressed, "As you know at our battle, I reclaimed my family's sword, Blackfyre which had long been in their possession, and with your gifted elephant, I will take a smaller claim and allow you to collect and distribute the rest."
Robert bowed his head. This was a tremendous reward. The Golden Company was not idly named. The sellswords carried much on their purse, and the slain sellswords had been ruthlessly pillaged. Their camps had also carried great and exotic wealth from their years of service across Essos. "You heard him, Ned," Robert turned to him, "we just got a bit richer." He then pointed to one of the golden banners that was being paraded, "I'll take those." He walked over to it, "These will look great at Storm's End."
"Rob-" Ned began to protest, but Robert waved him off.
"You fought beside me the whole way, Ned," Robert said, "You deserve it, and you'll take it for your new home."
"Thank you, Robert," Ned appreciated the gesture. And Robert was right, the gold would go a long way for him and Ashara and their castle. "And you too, Your Grace."
Daeron nodded at him. "We're near the end, tomorrow, we will march on the capital, hopefully it will be a bloodless surrender, but we must be prepared for a siege."
Ned had expected this ever since they arrived at the king's encampment, but it didn't lessen the sting. He had thought the war was won all those days ago, but that had been when he thought the capital was in King Daeron's possession. It wasn't, and that truth sunk in Ned's chest like a heavy stone. One final battle, he thought, before he could be with his family.
"Ned, I have a task for you."
"Yes, Your Grace?" Ned straightened in his chair, "I serve the Crown."
"I know, you do," Daeron smiled, "You will go to the Rock, see your wife and meet your son."
"Your Grace?" Ned blinked, astonished, this was what he had wanted, but his excitement was tempered. He couldn't just leave, not yet. It wasn't fair to the others that he got to see his family before them. That I get to see my wife before the king sees his queen. "I'm honored, but-" He began to protest, but Daeron wouldn't hear of it.
"You'll accept it, but you will not be going alone," He said, "Jaime, you will be accompanying him."
"Daeron," Jaime was so surprised he completely forgot to use their friend's title, "I-I can't, I'm your Hand."
"Don't worry, I still have two," Daeron held up, said two hands before he sobered. "Ser Leo Frey is your kin. I'll have him command what's left of the Westerland forces, he knows your bannermen, and along with Robert's, the Vale, Dorne, and Riverlands, we have more than enough to march on the capital if it even comes to battle which I don't believe it will," He glanced at Jaime and then Ned with his last words, as if to reassure them. "It is done. It is decided." He stood from his seat. They all rose as well. "Go to your wives, meet your children. That's an order from your king."
"Ashara?"
He had made straight for their guest chambers when they arrived at the Rock. Ned meant no insult, nor did he wish to be seen as an impertinent guest, but he had waited long enough to see his wife. A grinning Lyanna had given him directions which he followed as soon as she had finished giving them. Part of his haste had been born out of desire of wanting to see her after it had been so long, but there was also an urgency because he had been told when they arrived that she was feeling unwell which was why she hadn't been able to greet him with the rest of the welcoming party.
Now, here he stood standing in the doorway with a slight stitch in his chest from the hard pace he put himself through to get here. He looked in to see she was waiting for him. She rose from her seat with a lithe grace, wearing a sleeveless purple gown that was elegantly cut, pearls were sewn into the bodice in the form of stars, with skilled stitching of running wolves.
The face that swam in his mind every night when he closed his eyes and the face, he yearned to see every morning when he woke was finally before him again. Her dark hair fell in curls past her shoulders framing her beautiful face. Violet eyes looked at him with a lovely gleam that dimmed all the gold and gems of Casterly Rock.
"Ned," His name from her lips in her dornish lilt was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard.
"Ashara," He looked her over, a second time, mindful of the warning of his wife feeling unwell. "You're beautiful," The words clumsily fell out of his mouth when they should've been spoken with pure adulation.
"You sound surprised."
"No," he shook his head, wanting to push the thought out, "they said you were unwell."
"Ah," Ashara's eyes were sparkling at the news of her distress, "I may have created that little lie so I could have you all to myself," She confessed with a sly smile, "for a private reunion."
Ned laughed, feeling that knot of apprehension loosen upon learning that nothing was wrong.
"I didn't mean to make you worry," she said with a sheepish look, "Will you forgive me?"
Believing words would fail him in wanting to show her what he felt, he cut the steps between them and kissed her. Putting all his love and longing for her from all those months away. He held her close to him, but he felt her fingers holding him just as tight. He could hear her throaty hum of approval, and that soft moan he pulled from her sweet lips warmed his blood.
"Your son," She murmured between kisses, "meet him?"
"My son," the words helped to dispel some of the lusty haze that was filling his head. "Yes," he answered, feeling suddenly both anxious and excited.
"I should've waited a few minutes later," she let out a breathless laugh, before kissing his jawline. She then rested her forehead against his. "I missed you."
"I missed you too," he held her close to him, until she slowly disentangled herself from him.
"He's here," She was beaming with pride, guiding Ned with her two hands clasped around one of his, "Our little Robb." She pulled back crimson drapes to show the large alcove which at its center had an ornately carved cradle featuring Lannister lions with red and gold blankets.
Ned had walked through battlefields, traversed bandit-filled forests, but he felt just as tense in taking these few steps to greet his son. A nervous coiling in his stomach, keenly aware that his world would forever shift when he saw their babe. That everything was about to change for him, but before more thoughts could cloud his mind, he saw him.
"Robb," he said, admiring the small and perfect baby stirring under his gaze, unaware that his father was finally here and so anxious to meet him. He held out a hand to reach for him but hesitated not wanting to disturb his slumber until he saw Ashara's encouraging smile and he reached out to hold his boy's little hand. "He's perfect," he murmured in awe at him, taking in every feature, etching them in his mind. Gently, he touched one of the tufts of Robb's dark hair, "His eyes?" The one feature that still eluded Ned since Robb's remained stubbornly shut.
"The maesters says it's too early to tell, but I think they'll be violet," She answered, standing at his side, head resting against his shoulder.
He didn't care if they were violet or gray or blue. "There's a lot of lions," he observed dryly, referring to all the Lannister decor and colors on the sheets and blankets and pillows.
Ashara giggled, "Our little wolf does have this," She picked up a bunched-up blanket that was in their family's colors with the embroidered stars and wolves of their new house, "And this," She pointed to a stuffed wolf that was resting by his feet. "Lyanna helped with the blanket."
"Did she?" Surprised not just by her willingness to help in a craft she disdained, but her talent until he saw that some of the wolves on the blanket looked more like goats, with ears resembling horns. He could only smile.
"Yes, but I wasn't supposed to tell you," Ashara confessed in a tone dripping with amusement without a hint of guilt.
Ned chuckled, before eventually quieting, just wanting to relish this peaceful moment. "Thank you," He kissed her hair with his wife beside him, and their son in front of them, Ned Stark was finally home.
Rhaella:
The Blackwater Bay was shimmering below an orange horizon.
Rhaella looked at the sun but felt no warmth. She turned from it, leaving her balcony, and closing the door behind her. With a tug she pulled the curtains, dark cloth sliding into place to keep the unwanted light from reaching her.
The Red Keep was tumultuous since the report had come to the capital that Rhaegar was dead. The pain was buried deep inside her chest, a cold throb that made her ache. It had been trial enough to watch over babes who perished before leaving the cradle, a connection of hours together, and months in the womb, but this. She shivered. Days, weeks, months, years, this was an unfair burden that no mother should be forced to bear. Grief sloshed over her. Each wave was colder than the last.
My boy, she murmured into the mournful silence of her room. My darling boy, she swallowed the knot of aching grief knowing she had to settle her mind and think despite the temptation to dwell in this thick haze of despair.
No more, she had decided, knowing she needed to be strong, even though she felt so brittle. The court tried to navigate their way through these choppy waters, but she knew what they wanted, and she could not let them have it. She had made a decision, she needed to act, to save herself and Viserys. This was the only way, that's what she told herself.
"Your Grace?"
"Come in," She recognized the voice of her loyal knight.
A beam of light slithered through the cracked door, illuminating Ser Alliser who slipped into the room, before closing the door behind him. He bowed his head when he saw she was looking at him. "Tonight."
It was only a word, but it meant everything to Rhaella. She nodded, clasping her fingers together to stop them from trembling. "Thank you," she dismissed him.
He understood, slipping out to stand on guard outside her chambers.
This wasn't a Sept, but when Rhaella lit the candle on her bedside table, she prayed to the Mother all the same.
Rhaella wrapped her black shawl around her shoulders and waited by the door. The uncertainty snaked through her. Her fingers moved to the hem of her hood, ready to pull it up. She fought against the rising worry as the heartbeats passed in silence. She tried to steady her breathing, to quell her fumbling heart, but just as her fears were gaining a foothold, she heard a voice.
"Your Grace."
She pulled the hood up, with one last look at chambers she would not see again, she opened the door, and slipped out. Waiting for her were the two men she was expecting, the ones her knight said she could trust. They dipped their heads, they were draped in traveling cloaks, but she saw the way their hands went to their hips. They were armed. With a nod, she left with them trailing behind her.
Their footsteps were soft pats against the stone floor, but in her head, they were as loud as hammer falls. The pace of her pulse began to quicken, a soft pound that seemed to grow louder inside her with each passing step. She tried to ignore it.
Rhaella knew she was being watched, but these were lazy eyes that often wandered. Eyes that were bored at being stuck to a widow who didn't leave her room. They glanced away longing to be elsewhere, that had been her chance, and one she could not squander. It was why they moved quickly, but quietly through the corridors. There was only one way out of the Holdfast, the drawbridge, which was where they were heading. Which is where they'll be waiting.
It will all be over soon, she thought, we'll be safe. She stopped at the agreed upon place. Ser Alliser was the knight posted at the drawbridge this evening, giving her the best opportunity, she'd have. He will see to my safety. She was sure of it.
Right before the door which would lead to the drawbridge, she turned to the alcove. This was it, she thought, the point of no return. Rhaella tried to stem the worry that bubbled in her stomach. "Viserys?"
A voice answered back, but it wasn't her son's. "Your Grace," emerging from the shadows was Varys with two guards behind him. His hands were tucked neatly inside his robes, his pale head bobbed, a mocking display. His eyes gleamed maliciously before fading behind the eunuch's well-crafted mask. "A late night stroll?" His tone laced with that insufferable feigned innocence that he had mastered over the years.
Ser Alliser stepped forward from where he had been waiting. He wouldn't meet her searching gaze. He shuffled quietly to a spot by the eunuch's guards.
"You mustn't be too harsh on him," Varys interceded, "after all he is a knight of the kingsguard not the queensguard." He clicked his tongue in disappointment, "You didn't think we'd just let you leave, Your Grace?" A mocking tinge in his question, "You are our guest, and a guest you will remain." Varys was standing in front of her, so close she could smell that cloying fragrance he powdered onto himself. He looked to the two guards behind her, "Escort her back to her chambers."
Rhaella steadied her breathing, trying to reel in her frantic heart. She ignored the slight twinge of pain that crept up her side, a constant in her pregnancy. They never saw the knife in her hands until it was buried deep in Varys' throat. Her vision was red, drenching her in a spray of blood, but she didn't flinch. She heard the sounds around her, but kept herself tethered to this moment, eyes fixed on Varys'. "Who said anything about me leaving?" She clumsily wrenched the dagger out and he collapsed in front of her.
She could hear the last, feeble, wet gasps of the Court's spymaster. Rhaella wiped her face with the back of her arm, a smear of red staining her black sleeve. "Ser Alliser told you a secret," She said, "just not all of it."
Alliser stepped forward, his sword out and stained red, having already dealt with Varys' two guards. "I serve the Queen," he declared before cleanly cutting through the eunuch's meaty neck, the loosened head almost tumbled away if not for one of her guards, who used his boot to stop it.
The infection that had been Varys was finally cleansed from her home. After having to watch and be able to do nothing as he poisoned her family with his schemes and secrets. She felt exultant at seeing his bloody, headless heap at her feet, but her plan wasn't finished. The night was young, and Rhaella Targaryen still had much to do.
Viserys was still sleeping when she checked on him. She didn't linger in his doorway, but selfishly she still stayed a few extra seconds, watching her boy sleep. Unaware that everything was changing. When he went to bed Queen Laela presided over court, but he would wake to a different queen presiding.
She closed the door gently. She set off to her new chambers inside the Holdfast. Her two guards moved quietly behind. While Ser Alliser was leading the contingent of those loyal to her and her son in finishing what they had started when she killed the unsuspecting Varys. The guards took their position outside her new chambers.
Her chambers were large and spacious and close. Rhaella was pleased to see a basin of water had been brought to her. She took her seat at the table, grateful for the rest. The night's activity had made her weary, sitting brought a great relief to her sore feet. A large mirror faced the table she was sitting at. She dipped a finger in and found the water wasn't cold.
It had first come to her, this seed, the day after she learned of her son's death. A blazing idea that burned through her grief, something to hold onto, something she needed to do.
Ser Alliser had come to her to inform her that the garrison of the Red Keep was not partial to the idea of a siege. They were mostly filled with men who had been serving her family for years. They knew her son more than they knew this new Queen. She had taken this information with a simple nod and dismissed him.
Rhaella looked up to see her reflection staring back at her. Pale face stained red; the front of her black gown splashed with blood. Her eyes lingered on the bloodstains.
'Ser Alliser, I trust you with my life,' she confided in him one morning, the plan had been shaping in her mind. ' I need you to go to Varys to tell him that I'm planning on leaving the castle.'
Her knight had recoiled as if struck, ' Your Grace!'
She took his arm and pulled him close, so her whispered words wouldn't carry. ' Will you do this for me?'
He studied her face for a long second before nodding, ' I will,' he paused, defeated, ' but why?'
'So, the spider can set his trap,' she answered mildly, 'because they expect me to flee.'
Rhaella blinked back to the present. Ser Alliser had performed his role perfectly, the guilty knight burdened with a greater duty. She had dropped the clues discreetly, that they would find and follow, always thinking that they were the ones hunting never suspecting that it was all a ruse. She dipped the cloth into the water and began to dab at her face.
The water was cool against her skin. She had never expected to find her son waiting for her, only Varys. Viserys' n ame was only the signal that she had to give to complete the trap. One the spider blundered into, because it would never cross his mind that she would stand and fight. The simplest deception that would undo them all.
While she was safe in her room, she was calmly aware that throughout the castle chaos was being spread and blood spilt, with men fighting and dying for their loyalties. They had surprise and numbers on their side, and with the spymaster swiftly removed, she didn't suspect a long holdout. The fighting would be brief, but bloody. She wiped at her chin. When it was clean, she dipped the cloth back into the basin, watching the red slowly spread through the water.
Rhaella had cast her own web, because she knew if they were free then war and death would return to her family. Daeron would not be safe. His children, my grandchildren, would not be safe. The cruel wheel would continue to roll and crush her family. She would not allow that. This had to end, and she knew she had to be the one to see it through.
She brushed the cloth along her cheeks, scrubbing away the blood.
Aegon and Rhaenys were babes, but they would come back at the heads of armies or behind assassins if Varys and their mother had their way. It would be an endless cycle of bloodshed, tearing apart her family. This was the only way to secure the safety of her family. All my family.
No one would think her capable of such duplicity. A ferociousness to protect what was left of her family. When presented with the deception of her wanting to flee, it was an easy lie to swallow, because people saw what they wanted to see. When they look at me, they see a frightened mother, bereft of strength, incapable of courage or cunning. Years at court fed them these truths, when they even bothered to think of her.
It would never cross the spider's mind that he was in the presence of a threat. That he had walked into the trap and not had woven it himself. That she would have a concealed dagger within her robes. That the guards he was so certain were his had been bought because a man's heart is not a creature that can be easily satisfied. It always wants more. A restless spirit always seeking its next pleasure.
She wrung out the damp cloth, droplets of blood were squeezed out, splashing into the basin. Then again, she thought, what would a eunuch know of such temptations? He had thought he had learned it all, clever and impervious, but can you really understand a feeling if you've never felt it yourself? She had found the answer in that corridor when she watched him die at her feet. The surprise etched in his face, his eyes wide and disbelieving, the unassailable spymaster brought low by the discarded queen.
The knock on the door brought her out of her musings. "Come in," she looked up to see her knight step into the room. He quickly bowed before he stepped forward.
"Your Grace," His white cloak was covered in blood stains as was his armor, "The Red Keep is yours."
"My grandchildren?" She rose out of her seat.
"Safe and secure," He informed her, "And the Queen-"
Loud shouting cut into his sentence, which was coming from just outside the door. "Bring her in."
Laela was held tightly by two guards. Her face was pinched with her hands clawing the air, struggling to break free. She was shouting curses and threats until she saw Rhaella.
"YOU!" The guards unceremoniously dumped her on the ground. She landed with a grunt, but when she tried to scurry to get up, to attack, a well-placed sword showed her the error in that choice.
"Laela," was the only word Rhaella got out before her good daughter angrily cut her off.
"You treacherous bitch!" She spat.
"Careful," Ser Alliser warned, taking a step towards the captured queen.
She didn't heed it. "My children are royalty!" She screamed, "How dare you make them your prisoners!"
"They are not prisoners," Rhaella interrupted, but her answer might as well have been silence since Laela ignored her.
"My son is king!"
"No," Rhaella said sadly, " My son is king." She could feel her hateful eyes on her, "Aegon will never sit on the Iron Throne."
"NO!" Laela screamed as if she had been scalded, "It's OURS!" She balled her hands into fists and slammed them into the ground, "You can't do this! Not after everything my family has sacrificed!" She slapped the floor again and again in her tearful tantrum. "It's ours. It's finally ours!"
Rhaella waited out her good daughter's hysterical outrage. The angry shouting turned into sobbing. "I am sorry Laela, I truly am, but the war is over," She said over the girl's protest, "My son is on his way to the capital." She stepped closer despite Alliser's disapproving look. "Your life is forfeit," she loved her good daughter, but she knew in her heart that Laela living meant there would be a vengeful wraith lurking, waiting, plotting, and she could not have it. "You have my word that your son and daughter will be raised and loved," These words got Laela to look up, her cheeks were wet with tears. Her eyes were glistening pools, but there appeared a distant glint beneath, the anger ready to resurface, waiting to be summoned.
"And me?" She hiccupped, "I'm to die because of your traitorous son and his conniving bitch of a wife!"
"Daeron won the war, Laela," Rhaella said simply, "The crown is his." She looked down, a well of pity rising within her, at how the life her good daughter thought she would live was taken from her. "It can be painless," She assured her, "I'll have the maester give you something."
"And if I refuse?"
"You are a prisoner, who will wait for execution from my son and his wife," Rhaella answered, "And you should pray that my son arrives first because you'll receive no tender mercies from his Queen."
Laela clenched her jaw, looking away. She sat in stubborn and sullen silence refusing to speak.
"Take her to her new chambers," Rhaella ordered, watching the guards pull her to her feet, she turned to a waiting servant, "Fetch the maester and inform him that I need to speak with him." The servant bowed and left.
Rhaella watched them take her good daughter away, dragging her off as a prisoner when just yesterday she had been their Queen. Her heart ached for the poor girl while her mind brought her back to something she had heard long ago:
When you play the Game of Thrones, you win or you die.
The hands were pale and cold, but Rhaella Targaryen held them tight.
The grief was a cold knot within her heart, pulsing with icy pangs with each heartbeat as she looked down at her son, Rhaegar. Daeron had brought his brother's body back, preserved and prepared to be given to the flames, but Rhaella could not let him go. Not yet. Rhaella's throat swelled, and fresh tears dribbled down her cheeks.
She thought of small, pudgy hands that gripped around her finger, the inquisitive gaze in his beautiful eyes, the strands of silvery hair crowned atop his head. The tiny boy who held her hand when she walked with him in the godswood. "Rhaegar," she collapsed, with her head falling on his chest, still squeezing his hands. The painful sobbing made her chest ache, but she didn't care. Her face was pressed against him. She couldn't feel his heartbeat, couldn't hear his breath, there was only silence.
Rhaella did not know how long she stayed there with her son, only that Daeron and Viserys were patiently waiting when she left. She had collected herself the best she could, before presenting herself. A cold needle of agony remained having burrowed itself inside her, nesting in her grief. They did not see her, having been too distracted by their own conversation.
Viserys was so excited to have his brother back his words were smashing into each other forming a jumbled mess. Still, Daeron listened to his brother as if they were coming from the Hand of the King.
Ser Alliser noticed her first, bowing his head, a small smile playing on his mouth as he watched the two brothers interact.
"Whatdidyoubringme?" Viserys' question was punctuated by an insistent tug on his brother's sleeve.
"Is that all you want?" Daeron laughed, understanding what his brother was trying to say. "Gifts?"
Viserys dipped his head, a guilty look flashed over his boyish features before looking up at his brother. "I just wanted you to come back," he confessed quietly, small arms wrapping around his older brother.
Rhaella watched her sons embrace with warm affection, a needed reprieve from all the grief and despair that nettled her.
Daeron leaned back, holding Viserys on his lap, "I'm here to stay."
Viserys grinned, he was too young to truly understand what had happened these last few months. He had cried when he had been told Rhaegar had died, but he didn't truly comprehend it all. Soon, she would have to sit him down, to teach him about his eldest brothers and the way they fought against each other that bloodied the Seven Kingdoms and tore apart their own family. She pushed that reminder away, not wanting to settle on such a thought not now.
"However, I did receive an elephant from our cousin, Robert."
"Really?" Viserys let out an exuberant whoop. "Can I see him? Can I ride him? Can I name him?" He peppered his older brother with questions, too excited to be still.
"All in good time," Daeron chuckled, "There is something else I need to tell you."
"Oh?" Viserys deflated a bit at not being able to talk more about the elephant, but he seemed to sense the serious shift in his brother's mood.
"Yes," he said, "When I was gone, I spoke with Prince Doran, and we made a pact. That when you are of age, you will marry his heir, Princess Arianne Martell, and serve as her prince consort in Sunspear."
Viserys' face scrunched up in thought as he considered his brother's words. "Does that mean I'll have to kiss her?" There was a bit of pink in his cheeks.
"Someday," Daeron smiled, "But you didn't seem to mind dancing with her at Jaime's wedding," He teased, flustering Viserys.
"B-but," Uncertainty washed over his expression, "I'll still be able to visit afterwards, right?"
"Always," Daeron assured him, tussling his brother's hair, "And it's not for many years so I'm still stuck with you." Without warning, he plucked Viserys off the ground and heaved him over his shoulder all the while Viserys was laughing and playfully pounding on his brother's back, in between his giggling trying to get Daeron to put him down.
Daeron had already told her of Viserys' betrothal, Rhaella had expected it, and she was just glad that her son appeared happy with the match.
"Mother!" Viserys spotted her first since Daeron's back was turned.
Daeron turned around, Viserys bobbing behind him like a tail. "Mother," He looked surprisingly serious while carrying a giggling brother over his shoulder.
"I need to talk to you," she said, not wanting to interrupt her sons' fun, but she needed to.
He put Viserys down, smiling when he was looking at him. "Go with Ser Kyle," The young kingsguard knight came to collect the prince, "I'll be with you shortly."
"Will we see the elephant?"
"If you're good."
At that, Viserys followed the knight out without another word.
She watched them leave, but she felt her son's eyes on her swollen belly.
"Should we sit?" He asked.
"Yes," taking his offered arm, to escort her to the bench that he and Viserys had been sitting on. He stood after she sat, looking down at her, "I was not expecting you to," He gingerly tried to find the right words.
"To be with child?" She finished for him.
"Yes," Daeron had a wan smile at her tone. It disappeared with his next words. "Especially not when I heard about father's passing." He said the words of his own father's death without grief or remorse, he spoke of it with indifference.
She did not fault him for his reaction, few if any mourned Aerys, knowing he was a savage beast that wore a king's skin. Aerys' lifeless stare flickered across her vision, but she brushed it away, "What of you?" She asked, despite her son being in the capital for a day, they had barely spoken. "Is Cersei-"
"No," Daeron answered before she could finish asking, but there wasn't disappointment in his tone or his expression, all she saw was a man yearning for his absent wife. "I want to thank you, Mother," he said, "What you did-"
"I did for all of us, Daeron," She said, " All my family ." She made sure to emphasize the words.
Daeron didn't speak for a long second. His gaze was reflective while his crown rested atop his head. "What happened to her?"
"She killed herself," she answered, remembering receiving the startled servant who had come to check on the prisoner. Laela had rejected her offer of a gentle death, choosing to hang herself. "Rhaenys and Aegon are my responsibility, Daeron," Rhaella would defend them with her dying breath, but she didn't think it would come to that.
"For now," he said softly.
"What do you mean?" A slither of dread crept into her heart.
"When they are older," Daeron wasn't looking at her, "Aegon will take the Black."
"And Rhaenys?"
"She will become a septa," Daeron answered, "or she'll marry one of my sons," he shrugged, "but that decision is years away so you may raise them, I would trust no one else."
"Thank you," she patted his hand, "I will raise them to love their family," she promised him.
"I know, Mother," he said, favoring her with a gentle smile. When he turned to Ser Alliser, the smile was gone.
"Your Grace?" He instinctively straightened up at the king's glance.
"Ser Alliser," Daeron stood up, "My mother speaks of your service and your loyalty to her. At your importance to her and the role you played in securing the Red Keep." He approached the knight who kept his head dipped. "We lost a great knight in our final battle," he paused, visibly upset at the mention of Ser Gwayne's sacrifice. He cleared his throat to continue, "And I ask that you return to take up the white cloak in my kingsguard."
"I would be honored, Your Grace," Ser Alliser's voice was thick with emotion. The other members of Rhaegar's kingsguard had either been slain or were being sent to the Wall.
"Good," Daeron nodded, "speak with Ser Barristan when you are relieved."
"I will, Your Grace," he hesitated to say more, but at Daeron's encouragement he added, "I would ask that I stay serving as Queen Rhaella's sworn shield." He didn't look at her, but the pride in his voice was obvious. "If she would have me."
Rhaella smiled, touched by his loyalty, and grateful for everything he had done for her. "I would be honored."
"I think we can arrange that," Satisfied, Daeron turned back to her. "If you'll excuse me, I have to show my brother an elephant," he said with a smile, "and then I have Court to preside over."
Rhaella watched her son leave, even glimpsing his reunion with Viserys, watching him crouch down to tell him something and seeing her boy's big smile at what it was. Seeing her sons depart, the shadow of her eldest fell over her, a haunting specter, who now lay on a slab of stone. She felt the cold coil of grief around her heart, but it softened somewhat when she placed a hand on her swollen stomach.
"Ser Alliser," she said to her knight, "I think it's time I visit my grandchildren."