Rhaella shared qualities of both her mother and father, at times she's could be overly ambitious and manipulative just like her mother. At other times she was like her father a dreamer, a levelheaded person.
As for her siblings she was friends with Helaena and yet she could never fully understand her, Aegon was a handful at his best times and yet there would never be someone she trusted more, Aemond was a young and reserved boy, who spent more time chasing dragons than he did with his siblings but he was kind and she knew she could always count in him.
Then, there was Rhaenyra, her fathers first born, all of her siblings felt jealousy towards her. Although, some more than others. Rhaella herself was jealous of the attention her father payed to Rhaenyra compared to her, however she didn't hold that against her sister.
The chamber, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, became a haven for the delicate artistry of weaving. Rhaella, seated beside her mother, Alicent, found solace in the repetitive dance of threads. The loom's gentle cadence guided them through a complex pattern, a mirror to the intricate threads woven into the fabric of their relationship.
Alicent's hands, skilled and deliberate, moved with grace over the loom, guiding Rhaella's inexperienced fingers. It was a moment of shared craftsmanship, where the tactile rhythm of the loom became a metaphor for the intricacies of their familial bonds.
The tapestry they created was more than just threads interwoven; it was a silent dialogue between mother and daughter. In the quiet of the chamber, Alicent's usually composed demeanor revealed subtle cracks, a vulnerability that spoke volumes. Rhaella, ever the observant daughter, sensed the nuances beneath her mother's surface.
As the silence lingered, Rhaella put down her work, the unfinished pattern reflecting the unresolved tensions in the air. She turned to Alicent, her eyes seeking the unspoken truths that danced in the depths of her mother's gaze. "What troubles you, mother?" The question hung in the air, delicate and poignant, like the threads waiting to be woven.
Alicent responded with a breathy laugh, a sound that held echoes of both weariness and affection.
"I do no presume to think that you would understand my predicament, just know some people at court do things that are insulting to the Targaryen name."
Rhaella, sensing the weight of her mother's worries, gently held Alicent's hands in hers, a gesture that transcended the realm of weaving. "Maybe I should get Matilda; she always makes me feel better."
The suggestion, met with a swift rejection, unveiled the layers of maternal protectiveness. Alicent's reluctance hinted at a guarded world where trust was a scarce commodity. "No! I'm afraid that is not something she could fix. Besides, with Rhaenyra whispering in her ear, I am afraid anything we tell her will be reported back."
The statement hung in the air, a veiled reference to the court's web of alliances and conspiracies. Rhaella, furrowing her brow in confusion, due to the loyalty she felt toward Matilda not allowing her to fully comprehend her mothers insinuations.
"But Matilda would not tell your secrets; she is your friend, is she not?" Alicent ask, only Rhaella could not quite place the undertones in her mothers sentence leaving Rhaella perplexed but she thought nothing of her mothers words.
The two continued to weave in silence before her mother spoke.
"You might be the most skilled person with a needle, your septa will be in awe" this compliment caused the girl to smile happily as she looked at her mother who sighed before she spoke.

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