'I sleep best on dragon-back.'
-Taken from 'The Early Musings of Prince Rhaenar' by Brien Flowers.
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The bath was already drawn when Rhaenyra reached her chambers. The maidservants moved quickly to undress her. The water scalding hot.
As one of them combed her hair, Rhaenyra paused. She knew that face.
"I know you. You were my mother's midwife."
Looking around, she realized all of them were familiar.
"Yes, princess. I'm honored you remember."
"They said you all disappeared after she died," Rhaenyra said. "I worried for you."
The maid smiled. "Prince Rhaenar had us and our families relocate. 'You've suffered enough trauma,' he said. 'Come to Dragonstone and you'll be well compensated.'"
"So that's what happened."
Rhaenyra let out a breath. Dark rumors had been swirling in the Red Keep of late; whispers that the Prince had murdered everyone tied to his mother's death.
She would not believe it.
With that fear eased, she sank into the heat and let herself enjoy the bath. Dragonstone differed from the Red Keep, yet there was a strange familiarity. Dark stone caught candlelight like scattered jewels in ebony.
A twinkle in shining darkness. Even the ashen air had its charm.
'Home,' Rhaenar had said.
Before long, a steward arrived with news of her brother's return. Anxious to see him, Rhaenyra insisted on dressing herself, much to the servants dismay.
They led her to a refurbished chamber. An entire wardrobe! The colors, fabrics, craftsmanship... With even unfamiliar foreign styles lining the racks. How long had Rhaenar been preparing all this?
It was more proof he had no intention of returning to the capital. This space was meant to entice her..The idea made her smile.
She chose a simple pale-pink gown. The satin was soft and nearly weightless. It felt like wearing nothing at all.
Beautiful AND comfortable; the very opposite of court fashion. She stood before the mirror, posture straightening on instinct as she took in her appearance.
She couldn't wait to see him.
Rhaenyra found her brother in the council chamber. Dark clouds churned beyond the balcony.
He was bent over Aegon the Conqueror's painted map, studying carved figurines marking each House and their troop estimates. Colored flags showed shifting loyalties. He stroked his chin.
"Sister," he said without looking long at her. "Welcome home."
"What are you doing?" she asked, moving closer. He looked tired — more so than usual — yet the shadows only sharpened the gleam of his violet eyes.
"Taking stock," Rhaenar said. "There's much to do in the coming months. I've had no time for painting. A tragedy."
"You took all the paintings from the gallery."
"Yes. Better here, where they're appreciated. That cunt never had an eye for beauty. Why else snuff Mother out so carelessly?"
"Fath-.." Rhaenyra knew it was a touchy word, but she''d already started. "Father's worried about you. I'm worried about you."
"Don't be," he answered. He drew a deeper breath when she came to stand beside him. It seemed to lighten his mood. "You look marvelous. I take it you found the wardrobe?"
"Yes. It's wonderful."
"I'm glad. Everything here is yours. All that I own on this earth. Never hesitate."
"Thank you brother," Rhaenyra said, squeezing his hand. "That's all well and good. But it's time to go home."
"The Red Keep is no longer the House of the Dragon," Rhaenar said bitterly. "Perhaps it never was. Those halls hold no joy. Only ghosts. And I've been idle far too long."
He pointed at the map. "Tell me. What do you think the population of Westeros is? Twenty million? Thirty? My scribes say King's Landing alone nears three hundred thousand. That's a lot of mouths to feed."
Rhaenyra frowned. "Why is that your concern?"
She regretted the question immediately. Father had just lectured her on duty.
Rhaenar didn't seem offended.
"It isn't. Just a project. A habit. Before everything, I thought Father's reign might be remembered for something extraordinary, an unmatched survival rate through winter. The King who fed his people! He would have loved that. What a benchmark it would have set. I thought he loved Mother, too. And look how that ended."
The words struck her like daggers in the throat. She adored hearing his lofty plans and knowing he meant them. To watch his flaming ambition. But she also saw how he was deliberately avoiding her eyes, changing the subject. As if one embrace would break him.
Rhaenar cleared his throat.
"In the North, each winter, old men leave their homes to die in the wilderness. They see themselves as burdens; one less mouth to feed. Folly. Think of the wisdom lost. The stories, the songs! We live in a harsh land, ruled by harsher men. No one gives a fuck. Why should they?"
'Stop,' she thought, shuttering at the snarl in his voice.
"I know what the vipers whisper in court. As we speak they plan matches for you, schemes to rule through you. Or perhaps they'll gift Father a young maiden to capture his breath."
'Stop it…'
"But it won't end there," Rhaenar continued, unaware of what he was stirring in her. "In time he'll have a son. Then they'll eye Dragonstone. The menace across the Blackwater... The threat to all ambition. How long until they try to push me out? Will they even wait for Father's death?"
'Why must you be like this?'
"All it takes is one or two new dragonriders — young, reckless — and the Houses that loath us will use them to attack. Let them try. I'll burn them all."
It overwhelmed her. Something broke loose inside. Abandonment, longing, the sense of the world shifting without her and being helpless to stop it. She could stop it. She would.
"Stop!" she cried.
She seized his hands and forced him to look at her. See her.
She was panting, and the moment their eyes locked he trembled. Their quick breaths were the only coolness in the charged heat between them.
Then their mouths met. Softly at first, before the hunger took.
Her legs wrapped around his waist as they crashed together, figurines and flags scattering across the map and on the ground.
Tongues searched, hands pulled and grasped, bodies pressed tight like they were always meant to be One. Welps and muffled moans filled the chamber.
And then the world collapsed into a single moment. Of taste, of touch, of smell. The overwhelming feel of flesh on flesh.
It. This was it. This was home.
Rhaenar scooped her up, light as a feather, and carried his sister to the bedchamber.
Rhaenyra held on tightly~