Steamy scene at end, but not too graphic.
Rhaenar thought it best if she was to meet with Tyrion Lannister under better circumstances, the tension of the fighting pits perhaps having gotten to her head a little bit, and especially after seeing Ser Jorah. Emotion still seemed to swirl in her, never ending as she rested her hand around a goblet of wine, taking a deep sip. The taste was bitter to her tongue, but at least her companion wasn't. "So, have you made your choice yet on if you deem me worthy?" She'd asked it to Oberyn before, and Rhaenar only hoped she would get a similar answer.
"Have you decided yet whether you're going to have me killed?" Tyrion retaliated, smiling over his own cup.
She thought for a moment. "I'm not a butcher, Tyrion, I don't wish to kill those around me unless they give me good reason to do so; despite it possibly being the better option." They had set themselves just shy of the larger balcony, the dying rays of the day filtering across the table.
"I can see why you would think so." Her brows quirked up quickly before resting back where they were. "It's what your father would have done." Her father, the Mad King; that left a bitter taste in her mouth.
"Everyone always insists on bringing that up." Rhaenar mused, Tyrion watching her with a particular glint in his eye. Before him wasn't the same Queen as yesterday, gone was the fire of irritation and instead replaced by a glance of melancholy. The face reminded him of the boy in the North, the same way their eyes shifted glancing away in irritation.
"I'll give you a piece of advice, - as you asked me to advise you;" He didn't dare call her a bastard, he was already skating on thin ice. "Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armour... and it can never be used to hurt you." It took her a moment to take it in, her face recoiling as the words fully hit her.
Her indigo eyes shifted, shooting him a look. "And is that in reference to being a bastard, or for being the Mad King's Daughter?" He smirked at her, the green glinting. "I suppose it doesn't really matter, they are one and the same. Where do you even come up with this horseshit?"
That got her a chuckle. "Do you know, I said that once to the Bastard of Winterfell, he too was rather offended at it." Bastard of Winterfell? Must have been notorious to be a bastard of a place; she was only ever the Mad King's bastard.
"I'm surprised he didn't hit you for it." She mused.
Tyrion's head tilted to the side for a moment before straightening back up. "Believe me, Jon Snow came close to it."
Rhaenar laughed, but her indigo eyes grew serious once more. "What would your father have done? If he was presented a gift."
"My father, who publicly sentenced me to death?" The trial to find King Joffrey's killer. "I'd say his thoughts on having me killed were abundantly clear." If that had been the Targaryens, would Aerys have ever sentenced his children to die? Rhaella and Aerys had tried so many times to produce a female heir, surely they couldn't have done that to their own. How any person could raise a hand to their child was beyond her.
"Is that why you tried to kill him? Because he sentenced you to die?" The look that crossed his face told her enough, the rage that simmered in the darkest shades of green as he glanced back to his cup.
He drunk deeply. "Someday if you decide not to execute me, I'll tell you all about why I tried to kill my father. And on that day, should it ever come, we'll need more wine than this."
Perhaps they weren't so different, a shared experience with the wrong sort of people that held influence over their lives. "I know what my father was, and who he was. I know how he got his name, and what he did to deserve it. I may be young, but I am not oblivious, I understand the implications that will be made against me when I cross the Narrow Sea." How many families would be angry at Rhaenar? Raise arms against her purely because of her name. They fought hard to end the Targaryens, to stop any chance of their power, but here she sat, against all odds.
And there Tyrion sat, the odds just as stacked. "So, here we sit. Two terrible children of two terrible fathers." He reached forward, clasping the jug of wine once more before topping up their goblets.
She clasped hers once more. "You think me terrible?" Rhaenar questioned, unsure and surprised at the use of the word.
"I've heard stories." Stories, like the ones from Astapor where she had made the mistake of torching the Masters, and the lies that came from men who wanted to see her reign over. She wasn't oblivious, no ruler was free from slander.
"If you've heard these stories, why would you travel halfway around the world to meet the one they are about?" Rhae tested.
Tyrion just smiled, shaking his head slightly, the honey curls bouncing around the tip of his brows. "To see if you were the right kind of terrible."
"And what kind of terrible would you deem to be the right kind?" Surely there was no such thing as a good terrible.
"The kind that prevents your people from being even more so." Rhaenar didn't know about that, the people of Westeros were fickle and full of dark deeds. King's Landing were quick to call Robert Baratheon as their King, discarding the rich history the Targaryens had.
She shook her head, bells tinkling as she did so. "I don't know about that. When you've lived on the streets like we have, and had to fend off hands from your body; you come to wonder if you are capable of ruling over people like that. Evil lives out there, pure, unjust evil that leaves you awake at night." Tyrion had seen it within his own nephew, when evil and cruelty come together.
"They say that when a Targaryen is born, the Gods flip a coin and the world holds their breath." The world over knew the saying. "When it lands, and eventually it does, they're either mad or perfect." Rhaenar admitted, gently biting the inside of her cheek for a moment.
"You don't agree?" She shook her head.
"I don't agree. I've come to love two Targaryens in my life, my brother and sister; and as children both were not mad. They were kind and loving until we came to realise the state of the world around us; Viserys grew cruel because he believed the throne should have been his, but he was fending us from men. A boy at ten should never have to slit the throat of a man they thought they could trust because he was about to ship them off to King's Landing; it does things to the mind." She said, her mind growing sad for her older brother.
"He was never allowed to grieve like we were, he always put on a brave face despite physically knowing our brother and father and mother, he'd lost them all in such a short amount of time. As for Daenerys, she had to see me take her life, her opportunities. She may not be mad yet, but one day I fear it'll twist her completely." It was a sad state of affairs, the fate of the royal Targaryen children and who they turned out being. Rhaenar could only imagine who they would have become if their family had never been killed.
Tyrion rose a brow at her little monologue, seeing the lost look on her face as she spoke of a life so far from here. "It's not impossible that Varys was right about you after all."
She glanced up. "Pardon?"
"King Robert's spymaster?" Rhae knew who he was now. "Yes, he's the one who convinced me to come find you. He was my travelling companion before Ser Jorah seized that role for himself."
"He was the one Jorah sent my secrets to." She stated, unsure of this man who seemed to be working in her favour. "He was the one to overlook the campaign to kill my family, no?" Part of the reason they had to fight so many assassins over the years.
Tyrion shook his head, knowing his friend. "He did what he had to do to survive. He did a lot of other things as well, things he didn't have to do. I suspect he's the main reason you weren't slaughtered in your crib." Rhaenar could understand the reasoning, without him she probably wouldn't be alive. The mystery surrounding how she got to Dragonstone.
"You trust him then? If he joins us, he won't betray us?" Rhaenar asked. But you trust him?
Tyrion sipped on his goblet, certain. "Yes, oddly. He may be the only person in the world I trust. Except my brother. If Aerys Targaryen had listened to him, and not opened the gates, perhaps your family would still be here." The odd fact unsettled her, made her want to know why he was so sure of wanting the Targaryens on the throne. It was huge news knowing that Varys advised her father to keep the doors shut, to not let Tywin Lannister into King's Landing' thousands of lives would have been saved if he had listened to Varys.
"When he arrives, we will ensure he is well seen to." Tyrion smiled at the news, nodding his head as she listened to his council. "I don't speak the same for you, however." She teased, keeping her face well guarded.
The wine she had been sipping on had run dry, the warmth that flowed through her putting her in a better mood. "I had given up on life until Varys convinced me you might be worth living for. If you chop off my head, well, my final days were interesting."
For just a touch, she enjoyed being feared before the reason filled her head. "I won't kill you, Tyrion; I'm sure I've said that before." They were both too gone to be 100% sure.
"No?" He wondered what she was getting at. "Banish me?" Rhaenar shook her head. "So if I'm not going to be murdered and I'm not going to be banished..."
Rhaenar hiccuped, Tyrion giggling at the shockness that washed over her. "You're going to advise me, when we both of course can stream a coherent thought." She mumbled quickly, smiling over her cup.
"Advise you on what?"
"How to become a Queen, both feaared and respected. One that in a hundred years time, the tales will become so twisted; that they believe me to have been an ugly hag that unleashed demon dogs to every Lord." She giggled.
He laughed at her. "You've noticed it too!" He stated with a loudness, breaking the silence of the room.
"A number of women who dare to seek power either end up, ugly, mad, or so old they give her a horrible nickname." Rhaenar couldn't wait to hear the stories they'd twist of her. Maybe she would be like Meria, nicknamed the Toad for having famously bad looks; or that she bathed in blood like Danelle, and that bad children would be taken to her to eat.
"Perhaps you should try wanting something else."
She placed down the cup, the three drinks she had rushing to her head the minute she shuffled. "If I wanted someone to make me laugh Tyrion, I wouldn't be sitting in this Pyramid listening to you."
He was offended for a moment, but brushed it off quickly. "I'm not entirely joking. There's more to the world than Westeros after all." And she had thought long and hard about this, the implication and lives she would destroy in the process. "How many hundreds of thousands of lives have you changed for the better here? Perhaps this is where you belong, where you can do the most good."
"No, my place won't always be here. I came to these cities because men had been chained their entire lives, left to be bought or sold like cattle. I didn't want their children to fall into that same path, I wanted to give them life." Rhaenar swallowed, smoothing her skirt. "Look outside and what do you see? Free men."
"When you get back to your home, who supports you?" Rhaenar wasn't naive enough to think like Viserys once had. She knew they fought for who was strongest, who had claimed the throne. He took her silence for an answer. "Here in Slaver's Bay, you had the support of the common people and only the common people. What was that like? Ruling without the rich?"
It was a battle she was still fighting. "House Targaryen is gone. No one there who shares your blood is alive to support you. The Starks are gone as well. Our two terrible fathers saw to that." She still had Dorne at least, the first House to support her. "The remaining members of House Lannister will never back you, not ever. Stannis Baratheon won't back you, either. His entire claim to the throne rests on the illegitimacy of yours. That leaves the Tyrells. Not impossible, not enough."
Rhaenar stood from her seat, the world spinning from around her. "It doesn't matter what house they're from Lannister, Targaryen, Baratheon, Stark, Tyrell... At the end of the day they're all just spokes on a wheel. This one's on top, then that one's on top. And on and on it spins, crushing those on the ground; no one truly cares for their actions for the people beneath them and those they left behind."
"It's a beautiful dream, stopping the wheel. You're not the first person who's ever dreamt it."
She shook her head, staring him straight in the eye as she said the words. "I'm not going to stop the wheel; I'm going to break the wheel.The same Kingdom that Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys built will one day come again, and the only ones to rule will be the Targaryens. Their dynasty will last for a thousand years." Rhae promised, feeling her blood coursing through her veins. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Tyrion."
Rhae just about managed to carry herself with a straight back to the door before pulling it open, her balance tilting at the shift. The wine had rushed to her head, the world taking on a rosy tint as she stumbled through the hallways, her nails desperately clinging to the bricks that lined them. Unsullied eyes shifted, watching as she gathered her skirts before tottling along in her boots. She hadn't been this tipsy since her 15th name day and Illyrio had gifted her a whole flagon of wine, Viserys had to clean up the mess that she was in, he had laughed so hard when she came stumbling into his room demanding a dragon.
Rhaenar cringed at the thought; how she had gotten exactly what she wanted. Her boots tapped on the stone as she almost walked past her door, having to trip backwards slightly as she focused on it. Her body was uncoordinated as her hand slammed against it, pushing on them a little too forcefully. They whipped open with little force, hitting with a bang against the stone as her eyes widened at the sight.
Mero and Oberyn were lying shirtless on her body, their beautiful chests free for her eyes to roam as she sobered up slightly, mouth falling agape. They only had on underclothes, and two bottles of wine were open amongst the pair. "Oh!" She cried out, the two smirking. "Am I- uh, am I interrupting?"
"There's the beauty." Mero stated, his ocean eyes swimming in excitement as his undercloth did little to hide it.
Rhaenar glanced around at the room, seeing that there was no one but herself to hold their attention. "Me?" She asked, pointing to her chest.
"You." Oberyn confirmed. The two slid from the bed like sly foxes, the flicker of candle light only highlighted the muscles of their torso. She wanted to gasp, to let her hand reach out and touch them as they came within metres, but she refrained, keeping them clenched at her side.
"We've done some thinking." Mero began; despite not yet touching her body, the heat from them sank into the fabric of her dress, warming her already hot body.
Oberyn nodded, smirking at Mero as the girl looked up to the two of them. What thinking had they done? "And we thought with all the stress you were under, that perhaps we could all do something to ease it."
Mero's hand was the first to lock onto her figure, wrapping around her waist before settling on her hip. "Oh really." She squeaked.
"Really." Mero stated, bringing his head down to brush against the shell of her ear. "See we've been noticing some looks." Looks? Really? Rhaenar swallowed quickly as Oberyn stepped even closer, her body sandwiched between the pair.
"We're all understanding, especially due to our shared past in the Second Sons..." Oberyn's hand came to the back of her dress, pulling at the buttons slowly. "Would you be opposed to sharing?"
Her eyes darted to Mero's, who looked on to check she was okay with everything they were doing. "I, uh."
"Words." Mero urged her, her back now free to the cool air, her mind swimming in haze.
"No." Rhaenar confirmed quietly, the two men smirking deliciously above her.
"Then how about we get you out of this dress, and you join us on the bed." Oberyn asked, her head nodding. It didn't take long before their hands had stripped the dress from her body, letting it pool to the floor. Oberyn held her hand as she stepped out, Mero's hovering at the curve of her back. They both wanted to share?
Their eyes ran appreciatively over her body as she crossed the room to the bed, the wide indigo coaxing them over as she hovered at the edge, slightly nervous at what was happening. Oberyn sensed this, his hand clutching at her cheek for a moment as Mero's eyes watched eagerly. "We don't have to do this."
Rhae shook her head, raising herself slightly. The air around her was a mix between the two men, the myrrh, orange, and strong spice tickling at her nose as their bodies became all she could think about. Lips connected to her neck, her eyes fluttering shut as Oberyn eased forward, pressing his own to hers, capturing the gasp with a nip of his teeth.
A hand brushed at her chest, teasing the bundle of nerves; Rhaenar jumping as another joined it. She pulled away, glancing to them for a moment. Oberyn had one hand on her left, teasing at the screwed pink meanwhile Mero cupped at the other. Both holding a different approach to the flesh, but it wasn't unwelcomed.
It had to be a dream, being surrounded by the pair; their hands running over her body. Oberyn pulled away before leaning over, his lips pressing to Mero's as Rhaenar watched entranced at the two. Her mind couldn't shake the idea of Gods before her, untouchable to the concept of sin, the Seven so far from her as her own hands reached up, nailed dragging down the skin. Goosebumps rose as hisses escaped them. This was what they meant by shared past. Oberyn groaned in her ear as Mero's hand tugged them both closer, naked skin against naked skin.
They broke apart, their breathing heavy. Oberyn and Mero climbed upon the bed, stripping their underclothes from themselves before getting comfortable; her eyes not sure where to look. "Are you going to join us?" He asked.
Rhaenar didn't need to think about it as her knee sunk into the plush mattress, indigo heavy as she looked between the two. Mero reached out for her hand, it easily slipping onto his palm before they slid across one another; his hand locking around her forearm before tugging her forward. A loud squeal left her as she slammed between their bodies, arms wrapping around her, grasping at the flesh.
It felt otherworldly. "Rough and fast, or slow and sweet?" Oberyn asked her, his eyes pitch black as he locked her there, his body above hers.
"Why not both?"
Mero smirked. "You'll learn to regret that, Peach."