Chapter Text
Rhaena looked at herself in the mirror. Her lilac eyes gleamed like diamonds, and shiny silver strands adorned and framed her small face. Her pale olive skin glowed in the light of the sunset drifting through her open window. She sighed as she smoothed her dress.
The ceremony had been quite noisy for such an event. The commotion did not surprise Rhaena, for her husband had died tragically, as any bride-to-be might expect. Falling from the Moon Door was quite a way of leaving the world for a Lord. And although he was well known for being quite fond of wine, no one could ever imagine such a fate for Donnel Arryn.
They learned later that he had not been alone that night. A girl had been with him—some tavern wench. Whether he slipped in his cups or lost his footing in the midst of whatever sport they shared, no one could really tell, as the wench had been the only witness. But the tale did not surprise Rhaena. She knew the sort of man she had been sold to. There was little left in this world that could still surprise her.
Although she had attended a few funerals, this one felt more like a feast. Pastries and sugared fruits lay in neat rows upon a long black cloth. Pitiful looks and whispers surrounded her in the quiet room as she passed. She answered with a small smile and steady breath.
It felt like a dance; she remembered the steps, so she performed with ease. She smiled slightly when required, bowed her head as the guests left, and kept her breathing steady. Each breath of clean air eased something within her. If there was any grief to be found, it had not found her.
Many embraced and pitied Rhaena, as though she were a lost child in search of a missing mother. But Rhaena had lost her mother, Dyanna Dayne, years ago, and nothing in Westeros could wound her so deeply again. Her breath had once caught when her father delivered the news. Her future husband’s death did not even begin to compare, but the service, naturally, had stirred the memory of her mother.
Back in her chamber, she smiled briefly at her reflection. The shadows beneath her eyes betrayed a sleepless night, and yet she looked almost radiant, as though the night had taken nothing from her at all. The maester had asked if she required milk of the poppy to endure the tragic night, but she had no need of it. Wine sufficed.
After dressing and having her hair arranged for the service, the maids had stood in quiet astonishment at her beauty, despite the circumstances. Even several minor lords and their wives had praised her looks. She felt more like a queen than… Well, not a widow, for she had never wed Lord Arryn—but the feeling was a strange one, as though she had been spared.
Rhaena loosened the laces of her gown and watched it pool at her feet. She studied her reflection and smirked lightly.
⚜ ⚜ ⚜
The journey was meant to be tedious, but her knight was surprisingly entertaining. He rambled and murmured, as an old man, the many things he had already said.
“You should be resting, Princess. Not in a carriage going south.”
Had said the knight early that morning before she left the Eyrie behind.
“I understand your concern, Ser Lance, but The Vale is not my home. Summerhall is.”
Rhaena was tired of the chivalry. Ser Lance Lake’s intentions were simply dismissed. The pressing need to meet her Lord father was greater than any possible rest. Besides, the carriage was quite spacious for one, so her legs were fully stretched, she could be silent, undisturbed for hours, if only Ser Lance would shut his mouth.
The journey would last at least seven days, if not more. Rhaena wanted to be on time for the tourney and the name day of the Lord’s daughter of Ashford Meadow. With any luck, and given her urgency, the journey would take less than the allotted time. Among the rattle of the carriage, she wondered if the ravens with the news of her late-not-husband would reach Summerhall before his family’s departure. In any case, Rhaena had purposely omitted any mention of her attendance, for she loved surprises, whilst Maekar loathed them. After all, he was only a man of war.
Her thoughts deviated from Maekar to Daeron. What would he say when he saw her after a few months?
She had departed for The Vale to meet her betrothed and become acquainted with the castle that was meant to be her home. Luckily for Rhaena, the wedding was being planned by some eager and old ladies. She could not be more grateful for such generosity from a stranger.
“It is only natural for the ladies from The Vale to take care of the preparations, my lady. It is an honour.” One of the maids had told her that when she spotted Rhaena’s straight face upon the overwhelming chatting about details she did not bother to listen to.
Rhaena deeply appreciated them, for it was never her intention to involve herself in such matters or to get married at all. She did feel a measure of guilt after departing when those ladies were planning her wedding as their own, but Rhaena knew deep down her place was not at The Eyrie. Nothing and no one could have made her stay.
Her determination reminded her of Maekar. She could not help but smile. In spite of his stoicism, he was a loving, caring father, deep down. He showed his love through strange and subtle ways, but that did not mean he was a cold-hearted man. It was quite the opposite, and her mother’s passing was proof of it. Their midnight talks, when sleep eluded, brought her a peace she needed more than anything. The afternoons spent strolling through the yard, past the flowers her mother had once planted, reminiscent of those old, simple days, were also proof that happiness could be achieved again.
Then, Aegon came to her mind. Her little baby. His round, curious eyes followed her wherever she went. Would they follow her again? It had not been long since they had last seen each other, but children grow faster than adults. She wondered how much he would have changed in these months. Her smile widened again.
Aerion came to mind as well as she absent-mindedly caressed the old scar in her hand. Had he changed at all? A laugh slipped out this time. As if he could. He was fire, and fire does not change; it remains untamed. She could not deny she had missed him, but the peace of mind she found in his absence outweighed any other feeling.
However, she still wanted to see him.
Rhaena wondered what expression would cross his face when he finally saw her. Somehow, she wanted to prove to him that she was like him, untamed. But that was a dangerous game, for when you play with fire, you get burned. Yet she was a dragon as well.
⚜ ⚜ ⚜
After a few days, they stopped at an inn. Rhaena had opposed the idea because it was Ser Lance's, but her hunger made itself known as soon as she stepped out of the carriage, and the smell of food reached her.
Darkness enveloped them as they entered the inn. The hearth sat opposite the door; the place was not huge, but it was warm, and the smell reminded her of home. She approached the hearth, pulling off her gloves. Ser Lance was behind her, looking around the nearly empty inn except for the woman near the kitchen.
“It is too cold outside, isn’t it?” said the lady as she stirred whatever was in the pot.
Ser Lance spoke before Rhaena could answer. “At night, it gets quite chilly.”
“It smells so good…”
“Just Alice, my lady. Thank you, the stew is almost ready.”
“Alice, thank you very much.”
“Alice, are any rooms available for tonight?” Ser Lance had suggested staying at the inn for the night. She had agreed because after so many days of bathing in the cold river, she was beginning to feel ill.
“Yes, there are two rooms upstairs. You’ll be comfortable and warm for the night.”
The lady had not recognized Rhaena; she was still wearing her hooded gown. Going unnoticed came easily to Rhaena. She disliked being the center of attention. It had nothing to do with her outgoing personality. Rhaena simply enjoyed the benefits of going unnoticed in some circumstances. Being a princess, even when one was not first in line for the throne, came with strict rules and expectations of docile behavior—qualities she sorely lacked.
⚜ ⚜ ⚜
Dust filled the air, and the stars dotted the dark blue sky. Rhaena looked up, but there was not much to see. Her vision was blurred, she could only see brownish shapes scattered across the ground, as though they encircled something. The air was still and silent, seemed to carry something almost magical. Rhaena was still unable to identify what was near her, except for one thing.
A bonfire.
She woke with a start, as though she had fallen from a high tower. As her chest rose and fell repeatedly, she sat in her bed. Her head throbbed. The sheets were tangled around her, damp with sweat. Rhaena looked around as if looking for something or someone. Taking a deep breath, she rose from bed and put on her gown.
As she reached for the handle, she thought of Daeron and his endless nights in the company of wine. She tried not to pity her older brother, but somehow he suffered more than she did. Rhaena's dreams were neither as frequent nor as troubling as his. On the contrary, she found herself intrigued by them.
She knew Daeron’s dreams were different from one another, but he was reluctant to reveal further details, and in a bid to respect his distress, she had stopped asking about their nature. But that did not diminish her curiosity.
“Another one?”
Ser Lance was standing next to her door, keeping watch as part of his duty.
“Gods.” Rhaena nearly stopped breathing. “You cannot lurk in the dark like that.” She glared at him.
“Yes. The same dream again.” She sighed. “I need some fresh air.”
She did not wait for his reply as she knew he would follow her.
“I thought perhaps you were thinking about what you are going to say to your father.”
“Not very much. A tragic accident. I need to be home… or whatever will make him less grumpy,” she said as they got out of the inn.
Her dry remark drew a chuckle from Ser Lance.
“What is so funny to you, Ser Lance? You may lose your head if you keep mocking me.” Rhaena turned to face him, narrowing her mischievous purple eyes. A smirk spread across her face.
“I bet you will be very happy, Princess,” he replied with a half smile.
The knight was slightly taller than Rhaena. His white cloak made him stand out in the dark as the stars did in the sky. But it was his blue eyes and dark hair that pulled her toward him. They were only a few inches apart, and the distance between them seemed to shrink with every breath. Their breaths intertwined, but she turned sharply away, cutting the air, and kept walking as if pulled by some invisible string. The princess string.
She was no fool. Rhaena knew her beauty was uncommon. Her lilac eyes, her pale but still sun-kissed skin, her soft curves, her full lips, every feature was delicate and striking, but above all, she was captivating. For beneath that soft appearance lay fierceness. Fire and blood. Her gaze, even her stance, could shift like the winds. Yet no one ever saw it coming.
Ser Lance kept walking behind her. Not at his usual distance, though still farther away than before. He was no fool either. He understood her. The atmosphere between them. Her decision. It was not about his vows anymore. Rhaena put a leash around his neck, not too tight, not too loose, but it was there. The knight had accepted it in the Vale not long ago.
That time in the Vale, away from her family, had brought them closer together. No words were spoken; they were unnecessary when their eyes could say so much more. Even in silence, there was something between them, an invisible thread drawing them together.
So, in the middle of the night, in the moonlight, surrounded by the darkness and crickets, they stared at the moon in silence. Bright, flawless, untouchable, mesmerizing. In that very moment, Ser Lance realized that Rhaena was his moon. Perhaps this, too, was a funeral for the knight.
“Why are you so quiet?” She turned to him.
“I was enjoying the calm, Princess,” he replied simply. “Until you opened your mouth.”
She turned away again. “You have a big mouth, Ser Lance.”
Rhaena could not hide her smile.
“I learned from the best, Your Grace.” He bowed.
“You'd better behave, or I’ll have your tongue,” she threatened playfully.
“Apologies, your Grace.”
Perhaps this would be the last time for a while that he spoke to her so casually, he thought. Rhaena seemed to notice his sudden stiffness, for she stepped closer without looking at him.
“I’m quite excited for the tourney. I’m going to need you closer to me in case I want to explore,” she explained, reading him like an open book. She tried to sound as natural as possible.
Ser Lance turned his head, attempting to hide his expression, and laughed.
“Yes, of course, Princess”.
“We can go now. I need rest.”
He looked at her again.
“You haven't had one in a few days.” He wanted to comfort her somehow. “Are they happening more often?”
She shrugged.
“It wakes me up, but it does not trouble me like—”
She almost mentioned him, but stopped herself. For some reason, she did not want to discuss that with Ser Lance.
“But I’m fine. Thank you, anyway.”
Rhaena smiled softly and headed to the inn.
Sleep came as easily as the waves upon the shore. But so did her dream.