Justice

Catelyn Tully

The news came to her by a raven.

Dark wings, dark words, went the old saying, and on that unseasonably cold morning, the words could not have been darker. She was alone and sitting in the window of the Wheel Tower, watching the Tumblestone as it rolled relentlessly below her when Maester Vyman brought the message. The maester had a craggy, lined face that was not made for expressions, though she could tell by the set of it that the news was not good. As she reached for the tight-rolled piece of parchment, her hand shook.

The seal was the Targaryen dragon, pressed into black wax.

At the sight of it, Catelyn felt faint. A Targaryen Dragon could mean only one thing – defeat. And defeat spelled out still worse things, things that she had determinedly tried not to think of since they had all ridden off to war. Her father... her husband... She put a hand to her head and rubbed her eyes as her vision swam in front of her. Her whole body seemed to sway. The maester reached for her and put one hand on her elbow. "My lady?" he asked with concern.

"Your daughter will be a Queen; our family will be in The Iron Throne."

Cat remembers her father's words; he promised her Brandon Stark, only to be married to Eddard Stark, the man wasn't bad, but she had wanted her betrothal, but in the end, Tully Blood will sit on the Throne.

She could manage little more than a nod. Her thumb slipped under the seal and broke it, and she unrolled the parchment. The writing that filled the page was lightly pressed and slanting to the left, and Catelyn read the words with a growing hollowness in the pit of her belly. Robert Baratheon had been slain at the Trident by Rhaegar Targaryen, and her husband, Eddard of House Stark, had been captured along with her father and Lord Arryn of the Vale, and all three were being taken to King's Landing for sentencing. The signature at the bottom read Aerys Targaryen, King of Westeros.

When she finished reading, the letter fell from her hands and fluttered forlornly to the floor. Her eyes found Maester Vyman's. "Dear gods," she murmured.

"What is it?"

At first, she could not form the words, and they wallowed their way around her brain with terrifying incoherency. She felt as if she had drunk some potion that had dulled her senses or turned her into some kind of lackwit. "It is over," she finally managed in a voice little louder than a whisper.

The tremendous noise made by the water wheel beneath them suddenly sounded absurdly loud.

The maester frowned. "Over?"

"The rebellion," she said. "The war... Robert Baratheon is dead."

Numb shock descended, and Catelyn looked up at Vyman with the slowly dawning realization that this letter spoke the end of their lives as they had been. Everything was about to change.

"Robert Baratheon is dead, and my father, my husband, and Lord Arryn have been captured and are being taken in King's Landing."

"My lady..." said Vyman with sympathy darkening in his eyes. He bent to pick up the fallen letter. "May I?"

Catelyn nodded. She closed her eyes and breathed in deep. The babe in her belly shuddered, as if it too had somehow heard the news, and instinctively, she placed a hand over the movement to soothe it. She listened to the maester clear his throat and then speak. "This is grievous news." He handed her the letter again, and Catelyn took it back. For an obscene moment, she wanted to scream aloud and rip the thing into shreds, as if that could make the news it had told be reversed. "You must think on what to do."

At that moment, there were no words, let alone ideas, in Catelyn's head, so she simply stared up at Vyman emptily. This was not the sort of thing her septa had trained her for. The maester continued, "I fear the King will want their heads. Look how he dealt with Brandon Stark and Lord Rickard. He will not stand for traitors in the realm."

A cold shiver ran through her at the mentioning of those names and the vile manner of their deaths. She could still remember the shock and horror she had felt when her father had given her the news, how the tears had failed to come even though she had willed them to. She saw her father deliver a similar fate, imagined him being roasted alive in the throne room at King's Landing while Aerys Targaryen looked on and laughed. It was enough to make her sick to her stomach.

And then there was her husband – the man she had known a mere two weeks before she had sent him off to war, but whose child she now carried within her. It was his head that the king had called for after he had murdered Brandon Stark and Lord Rickard, and his sister Prince Rhaegar had stolen. Eddard Stark was not a war-like man, but he had gone to war to defend his family's honor, and men had backed him because they believed he had just caused.

She could not let either of them suffer such terrible fates as those dealt with Brandon and Lord Rickard. "What can we do?"

"I do not know that there is much we can do, my lady, although it pains me to say it."

Catelyn frowned at the maester's defeated tone. She valued his opinion, but doing nothing was not an option. Slowly, she sank back down on the window seat. The Targaryens might have vanquished the rebel forces, but now they were going to have to calm the storm, and as far as Catelyn could see, the only way to do that would be to broker some kind of deal. Too much of the realm had been involved to simply crush the uprising with brutality. "What of Stannis and the Stormlord's and the Knights of the Vale who all swore their allegiance to Robert? What of the North and the Riverlands? These men will not sit idly by while their commanders are executed."

"No... but while ever the King holds Lord Hoster, Lord Arryn, and Lord Stark, their men will not stir a foot in anger."

"Then we must send an envoy to treat with the Prince," said Catelyn. "The Mad King may want to see the rebel leaders burn, but I do not believe Prince Rhaegar will allow it. Or he won't if he has any sense in his head. He needs peace. The Targaryens need peace." She was trying to sound confident, but the truth was that she wanted to hear her thoughts aloud as much as anything. "Or they may as well pit half the realm against them."

Ned Stark

It had happened so fast; he still felt like it was all a dream, a terrible dream; even before the Battle started, Ned had warned to avoid only one person, and that was Arthur Dayne.

Ned had no doubt his brother in all, but blood could defeat anyone, maybe even the likes of Ser Barristan Selmy, but Arthur Dayne.

He was known as Sword of The Morning, the best swordsman there was; his dual wielding fighting was unmatched; even Brandon once told him that to defeat him, one would need 7 Kingsguard against him, and still would be questionable.

During the heat of battle, Ned had lost sight of Robert; he had been busy trying to stay alive; after cutting down another man, his eyes saw Robert fighting with Arthur.

Ned had tried to go there and help him, he knew it would be dishonorable to attack from behind, but Robert could never match against the likes of Arthur.

Trying to make his way to them resulted in near impossible; the were bodies everywhere, his feet were more stepping on bodies rather than grass, ground, or mud.

Another man came to him; Ned tried to kill him as fast as possible, piercing his stomach was when his eyes turned to look at Robert who had fallen on one knee, his hammer had dropped down, and a sword had pierced his shoulder until the very end.

His body fell on the mud, and everything seemed to have stopped; Ned blinked, once, twice, and a third time and yet he couldn't believe his own eyes; they had failed. His brother was dead, Lyanna was gone, and his father and brother would never get their Justice.

Soon everyone started throwing down their weapons; some started running away, perhaps in fear; Ned didn't know and didn't care. The Quiet Wolf didn't try to fight against when they came; he closed his eyes as would be the last thing he would ever see; his wife would be alone, his child an orphan, but most importantly, Lyanna would never get to see The North ever again.

It had been raining for hours. It was not the kind of rain that washed you clean or made you raise your hands in the air with the joy of being well and truly drenched; no, this was dank, dreary rain that misted and mizzled through the air as it soaked you steadily to your bones. There was no shelter from it either, for it crept in underneath trees and canopies and hoods like ghostly fingers.

They had stopped in Brindlewood for the night, but while pavilions had been erected and fires lit for the royal party and the men who traveled with them. When he finally slept, it had been fitful and fleeting, his exhaustion overwhelming him, and his dreams had been dark. In them, he had once again seen Robert knocked from his horse; his foot caught in the stirrup as his head rang to the onslaught of Arthur's attack. He hadn't been there to see the killing blow, but in his dreams, he saw it over and over, saw the sword pierce through steel and skin, and into the cage of ribs to still the beating of the heart of Robert Baratheon.

When he woke, he wondered if he would ever be able to dream of anything else.

Curiosity piqued, Ned climbed to his feet, the better to see what was happening. Prince Rhaegar's war pavilion was within clear sight, a large black and red oilcloth structure surrounded by half a dozen men-at-arms. At first, there was silence, and then the flap was lifted, and the Prince emerged from within. He was dressed all in black, as Ned had noticed seemed to be his way, with the topmost section of his silvery hair tied back, and he bore the marks of injuries sustained in battle. One of his indigo eyes was well and truly blacked and partly closed with inflammation, while his lower lip was split, swollen, and scabbing over. As he moved to meet the rider, Ned saw that he was limping too. He wore no coronet or adornment to show his status other than the ruby-encrusted dragon pin which secured his cloak about his shoulders. A young dark-haired boy Ned presumed was the Prince's squire followed him out of the pavilion, and then came Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Arthur Dayne, and another, Ser Richard Lonmouth, whom Ned recalled from the fateful tourney at Harrenhal.

"My Prince," said the rider and immediately sank to his knee. Rhaegar allowed the man no more than a moment of deference before he waved him to standing once again.

"Rise," he said. "What is it, friend?"

The rider hesitated. He was a lean, gangling fellow of middle to late years, standing half a head taller than the Prince, and wore a tunic blazoned with a white lamb holding a goblet, black boots and gloves, and a gold cloak. Ned realized then that he was looking at Manly Stokeworth, the captain of the City Watch of King's Landing. "Your Grace, it pains me to tell you, but I bring grievous news from the capital."

Rhaegar's face, which had been solemn unto now, darkened with a frown. "Tell me," he commanded.

Stokeworth glanced at Ser Barristan, Ser Arthur, and Lonmouth, then began, "There has been an incident, Your Grace. Your father was in the throne room holding court with some of his advisors. He had been told the news of your victory, and he was..." Stokeworth's voice trailed away into reluctance. He cleared his throat as if waiting for Rhaegar to cut him off, but when the Prince remained silent, then he began again. "He was having one of his manic moments, screaming and laughing alternately, chanting your name. He ordered for the Wildfire around the city to burn, to Burn Them All. I swear your Grace."

Rhaegar shook his head. "Burn them all? That was truly what he said?"

"It was."

The Prince closed his eyes and sighed, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he processed the news. Ned watched Rhaegar's reaction and recalled the private words Jon Arryn had shared with Robert and him before Harrenhal about Rhaegar's wish to meet with the high lords to discuss removing his father from power.

When the King had unexpectedly shown his face at Harrenhal, those plans had been abandoned, and no meeting had gone ahead. Instead, the rumors had been replaced with new ones, and the scandal of the crown of blue winter roses had begun. "Dear Gods..." The Prince's voice was tight. His eyes found Stokeworth's. "But there is more, isn't there?"

"There is more, Your Grace," confirmed Stokeworth. "As Rossart was about to leave to begin his task – I am sorry, Your Grace, truly sorry – Jaime Lannister drew his sword, killed Rossart, and then plunged it through the King's back and into his heart."

There was a terrible, long silence. Neither Rhaegar nor Stokeworth nor any of the men who stood around them moved. Even Ned found himself frozen to the spot, staring with disbelief. Jaime Lannister? Finally, Rhaegar said, "My father is dead then." His voice was dulled by what seemed like a sense of hopeless inevitability.

"Yes, Your Grace." Stokeworth paused, frowning. "He died quickly, though. I do not believe he was in any lasting pain."

"That is a small blessing then... Where is Ser Jaime?"

"The soldiers wanted to kill him, but Princess Elia ordered for him to be put In the dungeon; he surrounded himself, didn't even try to fight,"

Rhaegar Targaryen

Rhaegar said nothing for a long moment of silence. He said nothing, despite hearing what he said, he still couldn't believe him; it almost felt like a dream.

My father's Dead!

He repeated the words on his head almost as if he couldn't understand them; perhaps he was dreaming; Rhaegar had just never thought his father would ever die.

Usually, people would mourn whenever someone from the family died, yet Rhaegar Targaryen had lost all his love for his father when he had forced himself on his mother; when he had heard that, it had taken Arthur to stop and not cut his throat where he stood.

Sometimes Rhaegar had wished to be brave to do it, he knew Kinslaying was a sin, but would it really be a sin to kill such a monster.

"My king," he escaped his thoughts when he felt a hand on his shoulder; he turned to look and see Arthur.

"Gather Jon Arryn, Ned Stark, and Hoster Tully; we need to clarify a few things. We should reach King's Landing soon," he ordered with a booming voice; the soldiers went to do the job.

Rhaegar walked inside his tent prepared for him; he wondered and prayed that Elia and their children were okay, he prayed for Lyanna and their unborn child, Rhaegar found himself not caring if it were a boy or a girl, as long as it was healthy, he would shower him or her with nothing but love.

He decided the moment he reached The Capital to apologize to Elia; despite her ending up liking or maybe even loving Lyanna, Rhaegar still knew it was his fault.

His mind went to his mother and brother, and he wondered if it would be a girl; Rhaegar didn't know why but he had a gut feeling that would be a beautiful girl just like Rhaenys.

Despite not loving his father, Rhaegar didn't find himself happy or smiling that his father was dead.

The following hour, Rhaegar stood in front of a table, the rain had stopped, and the sun was shining brightly above them, almost like a sign that time had come for a new Start...

Rhaegar found the eyes of Eddard- Lord Stark now, he corrected himself knowing he was the lord of Winterfell now. Rhaegar couldn't help but feel pity for the man; both his father and brother were killed for no reason and in the most brutal way possible.

Therefore Rhaegar wasn't surprised in the slightest when he saw Lord Stark looking at him with hateful eyes; he knew if no one else was there except the two of them, Ned might have tried to strike him.

Jon Arryn, on the other hand, looked neutral to him; if he felt anything, he was hiding it very well; Rhaegar knew Jon Arryn might feel sadness for the death of Robert Baratheon.

Hoster Tully, on the other hand, looked... disappointed; Rhaegar had decided to ask him about the letter Lya had sent to him, but right now wasn't the right time.

"Before we reach King's Landing, I need to make everything clear about Lyanna Stark," Rhaegar spoke; Ned's ears perked up at the mention of his sister.

Rhaegar went on and explained everything that had happened, from beginning to end, Lyanna becoming his second wife, his father sending man after her, not including the part of the letter.

At the end of the explanation, Jon Arryn closed his eyes; somehow, he blamed himself for Robert's death; Rhaegar sent them a letter before the Battle of The Trident that he wanted to discuss and not fight, but at that point, it was already too late, Jon had thought to be some ploy.

Now, he wondered how things would have been if they had listened; Jon shook his head, knowing it was too late to change anything; all they could do now was mourn the dead and move on.

Hoster Tully felt bitter about the whole thing; now, the chances of Tully's blood being in the Iron Throne were slim; no. Rhaegar would never agree to marry Aegon to any daughter that Catelyn might have with Lord Stark. They already have a connection with the North through Lyanna, Dorne through Elia. Storm's End will be punished for starting the rebellion that left only Westerlands, Riverlands, and perhaps House Arryn.

Ned Stark looked skeptical about the whole thing, but it didn't matter; if his sister were indeed still alive, he would bring her back to Winterfell, where she belongs.

"Where's my sister?" Lord Stark asked, standing up, causing every soldier to move their hands to the pommel of their swords. Ser Arthur was especially close to Prince Rhaegar.

Rhaegar gestured for all of them to stand down; he would not harm his brother-in-law.

"Lyanna is safe in Tower of Joy; once we arrive in King's Landing, you can go to bring her back," Rhaegar stated, knowing that sending Lord Stark himself to find his sister would ease the tension all around them.

Lord Stark looked at the prince, almost not believing his words; it sounded too good to be true, he didn't know if it was because of his father, but Ned couldn't find in himself to trust his words.

Ned said nothing but sat down.

The following day, they marched towards King's Landing almost in haste.

After one week of travel, King's Landing was visible on the horizon; the city looked large even from this far, looked like a castle sat in a rock.

Any other time Ned would have been impressed by the view, but right now, his focus was on the army standing just in front of the City Walls.

"Tywin Lannister," Rhaegar murmured with evident displeasure; he really didn't want to deal with this man right now, but why was he here with an Army?

Rhaegar signaled for everyone to speed up the pace.

Elia Martell

It had been days now, and sometimes whenever she walked inside the throne room, she expected to see him there laughing on the iron throne, his madness clear behind his eyes.

Elia couldn't help but feel happy; the madman was gone, Rhaegar had won, and soon they all would be together; she was playing with Rhaenys, who kept asking every now and then when Daddy would come home.

Elia would kiss her forehead and whisper that he would come home soon. That was enough to make the little girl wait a little longer for her father, but then she asked.

"Where's Jaime? We were supposed to play tag?" Rhaenys asked with her childish voice, her purple eyes looking for Ser Jaime, almost expecting for him to walk inside at any moment.

Elia's smile faded slightly from her words, she had visited Jaime that day, and again every day, Elia had promised him that he would not be punished, and that wasn't his fault.

Jaime thanked her and asked.

"How is Rhaenys? I hope you're telling her the bedtime story she likes,"

Jaime had asked; Elia had smiled at the young knight and told him that Rhaenys was asking for him every day.

To her surprise, Jaime had lowered his head in Shame when he heard that, his face showing pain.

"Even if King Rhaegar pardons me, my job as King's Guard is over; my father will be more than happy to hear about it," Jaime had explained with a bitter tone.

"Why did the king order for the city to be burned?" Elia asked, not understanding why he suddenly wanted to burn the city.

Jaime turned his head to look at her with a hint of fear behind his eyes.

"I don't know your grace; when he started laughing that Prince Rhaegar had won, he-he suddenly stopped, for a long minute, he looked-lost, almost as he didn't understand where he was. His eyes turned *White* for a second before turning back to purple. I was about to ask if he was alright when he started ordering for the city to burn and shouting "Burn Them All" over and over again."

Elia didn't know why and didn't care; the madman was dead, and that was important; he couldn't hurt Rhaegar, Rhaella, her children anymore."

Elia escaped her thoughts when she heard a knocking on the door, telling the man to walk inside.

"Your grace, Tywin Lannister has approached the City Walls and has asked for the gates to be opened; he states he's here to aid King Rhaegar."

Aid him in what? The War is over; what's left to support him in, Elia thought angrily; standing up immediately, she turned and told Rhaenys to stay put, leaving five Dornish guards at her door to protect her.

Reaching the Small council room, The little worm Pyrcell was still crawling around; the Maester of Whispers was there as well, with his usual neutral face, leaving nothing to read; his perfume felt everywhere around the room.

"Your grace, what should we do with the Lannister Army?" Ser Alliser asked who was the commander of the City Watch, his voice full of concern knowing A man like Tywin hadn't come here to say 'Hello' but kept his mouth shut, knowing the Queen would know what to do.

"I think we should open the gates," Maester Pycell suggested with his old rusty voice, his legs and arms shaking slightly; his clothes looked like they would off his body at any moment.

"Next time you speak out of turn, Maester, the top of the wall will be where your head will rest," Elia threatened with a cold tone never heard from her.

Pyrcell paled and said nothing but kept quiet. Seeing the worm was silent. "We will keep the Gates closed; my husband's army will arrive soon," Elia spoke; Ser Allister nodded in agreement immediately, Varys said and did nothing, while Pyrcell looked in deep thought.

Leaving the council, Ser Allister stood close, and she gestured for him to get close.

"Keep an eye on Maester Pyrcell; if you see anything that indicates he's a traitor, drag him to the throne room if you want," Elia ordered in a hushed voice.

The knight said nothing but walked away to do his job.

Later

Elia stood on her bedchamber, caressing Rhaeny's long dark hair; Aegon was soundly snoring in his sleep. Elia had ordered for ten-manmen to guard her door, just in case Tywin would try anything.

The sound of footsteps approaching the door was heard from where they stood. The sound of the guards moving away and The door opened and inside walked Rhaegar with the biggest smile she had ever seen on his face.

"Daddy"

He flew like an arrow and hugged both of them so tightly, almost afraid they would disappear if he stopped, his eyes shut, feeling the arm of Elia and Rhaenys; he kissed her deeply in the lips before turning to Rhaenys and kissing her forehead.

"I knew you would return. I told Nana you would return," Rhaenys said, hugging her father tightly.

Rhaegar was crying tears of joy, kissing her hair. "Your papa will never leave you again. I promise"

Rhaegar pulled away and walked towards Aegon's crib. He was still sleeping as Rhaegar kissed his little chubby face; the prince didn't know why but a smile slowly erupted in Aegon's face.

"Are you hurt, my prince?" Elia asked, walking over to him and looking at him still wearing his armor.

Rhaegar shook his head, nothing but bruises. "Don't worry, Elia, I'm more than fine, but I need to deal with the rest," Rhaegar spoke, knowing the Rebellion was over, but they still needed to deal with many things.

Rhaegar Targaryen

Rhaegar reached the Throne Room when the door opened, he half expected to hear his father's laugh, for his father to look at him with madness; But when the door was open, his eyes found only an empty Iron Throne, candles lightened up around the Throne Room, many people were here, including Lord Stark, and Lord Tywin.

Rhaegar knew one of the reasons the old lion was here was because of Jaime Lannister. Rhaegar had decided to pardon the lad; if he had done nothing, the city would be nothing but ash right now; he knew Tywin would be happy to hear it and perhaps would make the situation between them less tense.

Rhaegar knew he needed to send a man to Storm's End to end the siege, not that House Tyrell had done anything to help; calling them helpful would be generous.

Rhaegar decided to send Lord Stark to the Tower of Joy.

Rhaella Targaryen

It had been weeks now, and yet Rhaella still couldn't believe it; despite hating what her brother had become, she still felt sadness for him; despite what many people remember, Rhaella remembered a time when Aerys was a good brother to her that wanted the best for her.

First, the word of her son's victory had come; Rhaella had smiled so much that Ser Darry and Viserys even commented they don't remember the last time she had smiled so much; she had smiled the whole day like a silly maiden in love.

But after two days, a letter arrived, informing them of what Ser Jaime Lannister had done; Rhaella had read and reread the letter countless times, she had lost count, and each time she reread it, she felt like she was reading a foreign language.

Rhaella hadn't known what to feel but knew Viserys would be heartbroken; unlike Rhaegar and almost the whole realm, Viserys didn't know what kind of man his father was.

Rhaella remembered what the letter said about the young Lion; she knew Jaime should not be punished; the same day, she wrote a letter of her own, sending it to Elia in King's Landing.

Ser Darry suggested that he could give the news to the young prince if she didn't want or couldn't, but Rhaella had dismissed him; she was his mother, what kind of mother would she be if she chose the easy way out.

When her Viserys heard the news, he had said something she had never expected.

"He can't hurt you anymore, Muña," Viserys stated, hugging her tightly, crying on her shoulder.

Rhaella hadn't known how to feel; on one side, she was happy that he wasn't saying they should get revenge, but on the other side, she had hoped that he would be unaware of what his father had become by the end.

The light of the moon was shining above her, her figure standing at the balcony of her room, the sound of waves hitting against the rock could be heard from where she stood.

Viserys was sleeping in her room; she didn't want him to feel alone.

As she looked at the night sky, she thought back to when Aerys was good.

'Her father always kept looking at her in a way she'd seen him look at mother, and she kept ignoring it, choosing small corners she could hide in better than sitting in one place.

Five years old, she wanders the Red Keep, smiling at the servants and knights that litter the hallway, and she finds her brother somewhere down near the dungeons, where all the dragon skulls are, and she's excited but scared too.

"What are you doing here, sister?" Her elder and only brother asks, and she forgets her words for a moment before remembering them yet again.

"I- I was playing." She says, suddenly lowers down her voice because it's too loud underground and she feels very small here.

"With the dragon skulls?" Aerys asks, and she doesn't know what to say because she hasn't talked to her brother much, only sat by his side at a few dinners and smiled at him when they're with their mother, but she only knows him as well as she does her septa. "Aren't you afraid of them? You are still a child."

She bristles, annoyed, puts her head up like she's seen mother do, and widens her eyes like she's seen the father. Her brother is only a few years older than her, only three. "So are you. I'm not afraid of them; they're dead." She says he laughs, small and brave, and she's shocked, angry, too. "Are you laughing at me? Stop it. Stop laughing at me!" She tells him, chin back down. Aerys chuckles, and she frowns, trying to keep the fit locked inside her, the one that will make her so angry she'll start crying and hitting the soles of her feet against the dirt floor.

"I am not laughing at you." He says, "Alright, mayhaps I am. But I am laughing at the sister I never knew I had." She doesn't know what to say to that, doesn't understand it, doesn't read like her brother does, constantly and whenever he is free. She reads whenever she wants to, which is whenever she's tired and doesn't want to sleep.

So she frowns instead, her brow furrowing and pale lips turning. "What are you doing here?"

"I come here when I want to think." He tells her, and she doesn't understand what that means, can't understand.

"You can think in your chambers." She says, confused, lilac eyes filled with the utmost sincerity Aerys will crave for someday.

"I like thinking here." He counters as best as an eight-year-old can.

She doesn't know what to answer, hasn't been taught what to say to that by her septa, so she simply says what comes to her mind. "Well, what are you thinking about?"

"Fire." He tells her, and he has that look in his eyes, one she's never seen anywhere on anyone, and again her mind is blank. She is not sure of what she looks like trying to think, but her brother's eyes change, suddenly and he calls to her.

"Come sit down next to me, Rhaella." He says, and he seems a bit like their mother, so she does, sits down next to him and quietly observes.

He has a box in his hand, but she's not interested in the box; she's interested in him, her brother, the one who shares her flesh and blood. She looks closely, doesn't even blink, not once, runs her eyes over his own eyes, just a little darker than her own; the pale skin she's seen on her father's face as well, almost touches the silver hair that crowns her own head as well, marks the similarities she shares with her brother and almost doesn't even notice that his attention is no longer at the box, but instead at her.

"Why are you staring at me? Is there something on my face?" He asks, and she doesn't know why she's suddenly feeling the need to shy away. He's beautiful, not in the way her mother calls her but in the way one of her maids called her a few weeks ago, with that small gasp and shortness of breath, with wonder dissolved in it and just the smallest amount of envy laced into it.

"No. There's nothing there that doesn't need to be." She tells him in return, and he narrows his eyes as if he knows that she knows something she's not supposed to, but she really doesn't.

"You're smart for a girl of five." He tells her, and maybe it's true, but it is the best words to come out of her brother's mouth, filled with the blind sincerity and truthfulness only children can manage, and she smiles as brightly and as widely as she can.

"And you are not too silly for a boy of eight." She jests, smallest of laughter in her voice, though he hears it, all the same, huffs like a child would, full of admiration and naivety.

"Well, do go to your lesson, sister. Your septa won't be happy seeing the princess being late." He tells her, and her face betrays her surprise- she barely knows anything about her brother, and yet he knows when he has her lesson.

"I'll tell her the prince stopped me. What can she say to that?" Many things, because her septa was a family favorite, and her mother favored her above any who tried to come.

Aerys smiles; she quite likes it, the small tilt of his mouth. He looks like a god, and she thinks, all perfect. He should have a statue, she thinks, her own hair tight in braids and impeccably styled in a way she cannot follow. He should have a statue, a painting of himself just like this because he looks beautiful in a way she's never seen before, he looks like one of the statues in the sept, but all of them are frowning, and her brother is smiling, and she is sure he would light up the entire sept. If he is a God, she wondered, am I a Goddess?

"She would say that unless the prince was dying and you were busy saving his life, nothing other than that can be more important than your lesson. Then she would tell father, and I would be in for quite a difficulty, would I not, sweet sister?" Her brother says it all in a way a grown man recounts a tale of his childhood, wrapped in the woolen blanket of amusement and nostalgia.

Rhaella makes a face, what kind, she does not know, but it is enough to make Aerys laugh again. She hits him with five-year-old fists and no true anger. "Stop laughing at me! It's not very princely of you to laugh at your sister."

He only laughs louder. "No, but it is very brotherly of me to laugh at my sister." He says, and she turns away, as offended as a child can be. He most likely knows this and says, "Go on, sister, leave me to my thinking. We both have things to do."

She turns back to him, the farce of being slighted forgotten. "Can't I stay with you? Just this once. I promise to be very quiet. I won't talk or anything. You won't even know I'm here." She says, and he looks like he is thinking about it. "Please, brother? I do not want to learn about any more dead kings than I already have."

"You'll have to learn about them someday, nevertheless." He says, and she doesn't see the underlying meaning until she does.

"You mean I can stay? Tell me I can stay. Just this once, and then you can go back to thinking with the dragon bones." She says, wanting to hear the words out of his mouth.

He smiles, small and perfect, godlike in his glory yet again. "Yes, sister, you can stay."

It is one of the biggest kindness Aerys will ever show her.

She stands in front of the mirror, dolled up and extravagant. Her hair has been curled, her handmaids made up her stay up till midnight and till her back ached like she'd helped in lifting water buckets down in the stables. They'd wrapped silver locks round and round over pieces of metal until her scalp pained, and she couldn't help but wince while turning in bed. And now here she is again, the best silk they could find in the seven kingdoms turned into a gown, a curdling blood red that went darker and darker downwards until it reached the end where there was nothing but an abyss of black. They put slippers on her feet, perfect and hand-sewn, three braids from the start of her hair tied together as one, in the end, the rest free-falling around her like a banner in the wind.

You are very lucky, Princess Rhaella. Very few are given such an honor. One of her handmaids says, and Rhaella does not answer because she does not feel lucky. She feels tired. She feels sore and pained and ten and one, and she wants nothing more than to go to sleep. Why did they give me a bed of the best kind if they will not allow me rest? She thinks, blowing an idle ringlet off her cheek.

She's not a woman yet, and unlike most, she does not want to be because she's seen what girls become when they become women- they have to sew and talk and have a brood of children and follow their husbands' orders and put their womanly duties first. She cannot, for the life of herself, understand why anyone in the world would ever want to be bound in such a way.

Her thoughts are shattered again, lost somewhere in the corners of her mind as her handmaids finally leave her, and she almost tips over, body feeling betrayed of being so quickly deprived of support. Her hand reaches out and clutches the wooden table littered with pins.

She notices her usual chain of gold lying carelessly along the edge of the dresser, and she reaches a hand out to pick it up again, place it around her neck and feel the comforting familiarity resting in the hollow of her neck. Still, Helena, her youngest handmaiden, stops hers. It is time, she realizes, to meet her ladies in waiting for the very first time.

She doesn't feel excited or happy- only nervous because they will not know her, who she is and what she'll like- they'll only know her by her name, by her family, and by her blood, and for a moment, she tries to imagine what it would feel like to be sent away from home at ten and one to serve a high -end princess. Rhaella would hate it; she would- so why wouldn't they? They'd act nice and polite and kind, but at her back, they'd wish for home, for their siblings and parents, and they wouldn't want to be here.

Rhaella swallows down the nervousness pitted against her throat, restricting her breath. They're only girls, like me. She thinks It may be good to have someone other than my handmaids. She raises her head up until she can barely see the ground, takes a deep breath, and puts on her best noble face as the door opens to reveal three girls, almost each close to her age.

They look...scared and excited, dejected and annoyed, and Rhaella suddenly wants to sit near the dragon skulls with her brother to think and then stay there forever.

She tries to look more welcoming, gives up, and moves towards them with a grace befitting a queen yet dreaming of fire. '