Rhaenar had barely moved from Drogo's side in the wake of her brother's death, despite having spent more than a month mourning him, she just couldn't find the strength to shift her regret and guilt. He was her only brother, the boy who had sacrificed his own happiness to fuel theirs and to make sure they survived. He lost his sanity in that, and she couldn't be more sorry.
Daenerys didn't seem to be taking it particularly hard, not even on the night of his death. Rhaenar found it hard, difficult to accept that only she seemed to care and she was the cause for it. Was Aerys weeping for his son? Yet another slain. What about Rhaella? Rhaella had been said to accept Rhaenar as her own, yet she turned around and did this to the son she had cared for, for so long.
A tourney had been held in honour of Viserys's birth, but in his death only his sister saw him off. Perhaps it was a twisted form of love she held on to, or just a sense of pity for the derangement that he had; she couldn't tell. All she knew was the world was a better place without Viserys in it, and no one would mourn the loss of him. Perhaps Robert was cheering at the news, another enemy dead, another threat dealt with. Not much to expect from the remaining two Targaryen sisters; one soft spoken and easily persuaded, the other fated with a Dothraki Khal.
They weren't threats now. She didn't want that, she wanted to be a threat, she wanted to make Robert Baratheon ever question why he thought she wouldn't be a threat. She was angry, an emotion she wanted to use for the better. Although Dany may be the supposed next heir, she was the eldest, with a Khal by her side and Dothraki behind them why couldn't she fill the spot?
She scolded herself at the thought; that wasn't her, that didn't need to be her. She was content where she was, and happy, carrying the Stallion who will mount the world.
Drogo sighed, running his fingers through the pale strands that were spread across his chest like veins of the river. She was silent, too silent; with a dent in the tip of her brow that let him know she was thinking too hard on unimportant things. She was stressed, and she didn't need that in her fourth moon of pregnancy.
The tips of his fingers danced across the honey of her skin, tickling at the arm that stretched around him. "Moon of my life, talk to me; let me know what's on your mind." He asked, voice low and soft.
Rhaenar glanced up, indigo eyes twinged with red as she batted her lashes from a pool of tears. "What is there to talk about?"
He sighed, pressing her further into him. If she wasn't ready to discuss it, he wasn't going to push her; she needed time. Drogo sat up, Rhae cowering in slightly as she moved across for him to step out. "I want you to let me know you are okay. I'm here for you Rhaenar, I always will be." She nodded, staying silent. Drogo lightly urged her forward, slipping from the bath before wrapping a towel around himself. He couldn't have her stuck in here all day, it wasn't healthy. She needed to go out, to feel the sun on her face and to interact. There was a market not too far away, perhaps that would lift her spirits.
YOU ARE READING
There were two babes in the Tower of Joy. Two babes tied so closely to their parents, Ned had to make the decision. One with hair like raven feathers, eyes as grey as steel, and a face of a true Stark. The other, with hair like moonlight, eyes lik...