Princess Rhaella rocked her babe in loving arms. Little Rhaegar had just fallen asleep after heartily wearing his lungs out in a fit of pique undoubtedly brought on by hunger. He'd been doing much of that recently, enough to make his mother weary, for all the Grand Maester insisted it was naught to worry over.
She worried that he might come down with some ailment or another. Especially given the current situation, such an outcome might be disastrous for them all. Rhaella sighed, mayhap for the hundredth time, and, lifting her eyes from Rhaegar, looked to her lady mother.
Queen Shaera sat by the window overlooking the eastern gardens, so called for the myriad of Essosi flowers they housed and for the fact that they would see the sun first every morning. She supposed the sight of it was calming for her mother, but Rhaella could not be so easily appeased.
"But, lady mother, he's been crying every night. I haven't been able to sleep one wink." Her complaint was met with cool indifference. It was not that Shaera Targaryen did not love her daughter; but rather that, such trifling troubles as the ones ked by the young princess were quite ordinary and as queen she had other matters to give her full attention to.
Like the war. The bloody war. It was utterly stupid and Rhaella would have voiced the opinion had anyone asked her, but they did not. Those fools. The loss was their in any case.
"Babes cry," the Queen replied at a long last. "You were quite vocal as well. If you ask me, daughter, you have been I great luck with this child. His father was twice as fussy and you were much worse to hear the nursemaids say it."
It was not as if Rhaella had wanted to have a child. Scowling at her mother's lack of understanding, Rhaella bent her head over her sleeping son and looked at his little face. When they had first put him in her arms, warm and damp, fire raging all around them, Rhaella had been too stunned to weep. She had simply looked at the small creature in wonder. A wrinkly red face, flushed from exertion and howling, was what she had seen. And it had been the most beautiful sight her eyes had ever taken in.
As time went by, the features of her child developed into a familiar image. He looked a bit like Aerys, but more like her. His eyes were the same as hers, dark violet, a tad melancholy. And he was hers. She was the one taking care of him, not her brother. Aerys had been pleased enough to take off to war, chasing glory.
She could not understand why father had allowed it. Certainly, her brother needed experience, but he could die on the battlefield. Why not have him observe the battles from a safe distance? Knowing Aerys, he would be the first to head in the thick of it if he could help it. And the Seven knew he always found a way to get what he wanted. There was no stopping him.
If only there was a way to make him more responsible. Aerys, if left to his own devices, could not care less for his own safety. He thought himself invincible. What if he died? What was to become of her and Rhaegar then? Father was not in the best of health, never had been truly, and mother was likely to expire on the spot if anything ever happened to her husband.
That would leave Rhaella without a defence. She'd not wanted the position forced upon her, but once granted, Rhaella was aware that she could not, in good conscience abandon it on a whim. If ever she did, the country would be left to those greedy lords that sat her father's council. And they, serpents and wastrels would lay waste the Seven Kingdoms in their hunt for riches.
Furthermore, they would use whoever sat the throne as their shield. After all, what did the commons know of ruling and politics? They'd believe whatever they were told. And that could have dangerous consequences. Rhaella shuddered to think of it.
"Oh, I do wish you would listen to me just once," she could not help but say in response to Shaera's perceived indifference. "I wish only for some aid and yet, as ever, you haven't a moment to spare for me."
With a sound of frustration the Queen whirled around and gave her daughter a hard stare. "The world does not revolve around you, daughter. There is a war, if it has escaped your notice, and my son is fighting in it."
"I know well enough," Rhaella murmured, unintentionally jostling the child in her arms. Thus awoken from his slumber, Rhaegar let out a high-pitched scream of disconcert, intent of letting his mother know that her carelessness had not been appreciated.
Instinctively, Rhaella began rocking him, whispering sweet words to calm him. The constant flow of her voice did, in the end, aid. Before long, the babe was snivelling lightly, violet eyes blinking up at her. "Aye, there we are, my little dragon. No more weeping." She cooed at him and Rhaegar allowed a gurgle past his lips.
It was at that point that the door opened and father stepped in.
Well used to his visits, Rhaella would not have paid him overly much mind had it not been for the look upon his face. Of a delicate constitution since mayhap the day he was born, Jaehaerys Targaryen, the Second of His Name, had always been pallid and thin. But something was different about his pallor, something had made his thinness more pronounced.
He looked devastated.
That particular bit of knowledge brought along with it clarity. He looked utterly, completely distraught. Rhaella's stomach squeezed painfully as soon as her father's mouth opened to form words. Her heart's beating had grown so loud that she could hear naught beside it, thus she did not understand a single word that was said.
A piercing scream filled her ears after and a thin wail followed.
"What?" she asked over the din. "What did you say, father?"
Jaehaerys turned to look at her, his mien mournful. Rhaella looked towards her mother to see her weeping bitter tears, holding her face in her hands and mumbling about her poor, poor son. Glancing back at the King, Rhaella begged him silently to repeat his statement.
His lips parted and a choked sound came out. "He is slain. Your brother is dead."
Unexpected, hysterical disbelieving laughter bubbled upon her lips. Rhaella fought it down. "That cannot be. Aerys is not–" she herself choked on the notion. Tears filled her eyes. "My brother cannot be." She refused to believe it. "My brother is not dead."
Tears filled her eyes.
"A raven came with the news. They are sending his body back." Rhaella would have fainted at those words had she not been conscious of the weight in her arms. Rhaegar had not stopped wailing, as if the wee thing knew the fate of his father.
