Lull of Storm
The banners in the great hall were taken down.
That was the first thing Shaera Targaryen noticed when she entered the echoing place. The banners with the stag were replaced by black pieces of fabric symbolizing the darkness that had engulfed the entire household. As she walked through the vast expanse, she saw that it, too, was full of mournful faces and hushed voices – when someone happened to speak at all. But nothing had changed as much as the woman who now rose from the dais to meet them.
Only a lifetime of learning to look inscrutable kept a horrified gasp from escaping. Margrat Baratheon, the Lady of Storm's End had always been a woman of no particular loveliness but so unusual and vital that she created the impression of great beauty. Now, she was frightfully emaciated, her hair lacking its lustre, the big nose and sharp pointed chin dominating her face for the first time since Shaera knew her. She looked aged far beyond her years. But then, how can she not? Shaera thought of her son in the Red Keep, of Jaehaerys next to her and thought that she could not live through it if she lost one of them, let alone both.
"I am very sorry, my lady," she said softly. "And so are my parents."
Lady Margrat only nodded, for she trusted herself not to speak.
"Come on," Rhaelle whispered. "I'll show you to your chambers."
Whatever hopes Shaera might have had for a private talk with her sister were crushed when Rhaelle showed them to a truly magfinicent bedchamber, asked whether they'd need additional servants, and disappeared before they could say something more.
"And I hoped that…" she said as soon as they were alone.
She didn't finish. Jaehaerys nodded. "So did I," he said and tried not to give up to despair. "Well, we were stupid, I guess. We haven't seen her for six years. What were we expecting? She was a child then. Do you need help?" he added and without waiting for an answer, started unbuttoning the back of her gown. Shaera sighed in relief. The journey had been taxing and she couldn't wait to lie down and have some rest.
"But she isn't a child anymore," she said and smiled. "She's grown so beautiful!" The smile died. "And so distant from us. I'm scared, Jaehaerys, I'm terribly scared!"
The chambers that had been allotted to them were truly splendid. The hangings on the walls boasted the three-headed dragon, the fireplaces were all lit up, the furs gleaming. Had it been Lady Margrat who had taken care of this? She was known as a magnificent hostess. But now, she looked barely able to function. Perhaps Rhaelle was taking over the duties that in a few months would be hers. And yet Shaera didn't want it to be so. She didn't want her sister to consider her a guest who should be met to the best of her ability. The future queen. But that was how Rhaelle had greeted her.
"Do you think she has forgotten us?" she finally asked.
"Lyonel Baratheon is dead," he replied without replying at all. "There is a chance now to mend things."
Shaera hated it when he was lying to her but she was too tired to argue right now. Lyonel Baratheon wasn't the problem standing between them and Rhaelle. He hadn't been for a long time. Rhaelle herself was unwilling to be one of them anymore. Shaera had prayed that one day, her sister would stop feeling betrayed.
"I knew it would be you."
Shaera blinked. "You knew I would find you here?"
Come to think of it, it wouldn't take much guessing. Surely Rhaelle remembered how often Shaera had gone to fetch her from the White Sword Tower where she stood, watching the sea entranced? This sea looked much more beautiful than the grey mass bordering King's Landing. But it also looked more dangerous.
"This is the Shipbreaker Bay," Rhaelle said. "I do not know how many people it has taken to their doom. I love watching it when it's blue and white, and calm."
She turned round and looked at her sister. The breeze caught in her hair and whipped it savagely. Shaera reached for her headdress and removed it before the wind did it for her.
"I knew it would be the two of you who would come for the funeral," Rhaelle elaborated.
Shaera looked at her in confusion. "Who else could it be? If Father or Duncan had come, it would have only increased the tension."
Rhaelle snorted, very unladylike. "But it would have been a sign of respect. And since when has Duncan been fearing of causing tension or increasing it? As to Father, I don't think it would have been so very hard of to come and pay respect to someone who used to be his friend. Lord Lyonel was one of his major supporters through the Great Council, I believe?"
Shaera looked down. She didn't want to think of the Great Council. She was old enough to remember that time. "You aren't being fair, Rhaelle," she said instead.
Rhaelle laughed. "I am not being fair? Why, I fully expected them to hide behind someone else's back as they did behind Ser Duncan's during that last combat. And behind mine, of course. And they fulfilled my expectations." Her eyes were cold, glinting with hostility. "So stop talking about fairness, not here and not to me."
The wind was cold and piercing. Shaera wondered how Rhaelle could stand it. Her light cloak seemed to be more a concession to modesty than something to actually warm her.
"Was it truly so terrible?" Shaera asked in a low voice.
Rhaelle looked away. "It used to be. And then, it wasn't."
It's less terrible now. Is that it? Shaera wondered. "But you're still angry."
"Yes," her sister confirmed. "A coin has that right, don't you think?"
"Don't say that!" Shaera cried out. "You were never a coin. Sometimes, things just… happen."
"Especially if people make them happen," Rhaelle retorted. "Oh why did I expect you to understand! You're one of those that make things happen for them. And I am one of the many who have things happening to them."
She strode back angrily. Disheartened, Shaera followed. The two of them were separated from more than six years and this realization brought a chill to her heart.
They had almost descended the stairs when Rhaelle turned back so suddenly that Shaera almost bumped into her.
"Shaera?" she said. "I'm glad it's the two of you nonetheless."
Smiling, Shaera held out a hesitant hand and felt a rush of joy when Rhaelle squeezed back.
In the courtyard, they were greeted by the sound of a new arrival. Shaera saw the falling star and the sword and her heart leapt with joy. She barely waited for the welcomes and condolences to be over and eschewing etiquette, took the newcomers to her rooms where Jaehaerys was just as delighted to meet them.
"I've missed you, Aunt," Shaera said. "I wish you came to court more often."
Well into her middle age, Rhae Targaryen was now wider in the hips than Shaera remembered her. Her silver hair was shot with white she didn't try to conceal. But the smile she gifted upon her niece was as tender and indulgent as when Shaera had been a little girl and thrilled with this aunt who came from the exotic and depraved Dorne her septa was telling her about, and her husband with the white sword.
"I'm so happy to see both of you as well. But I really don't think I'd feel fine at court right now, with all those Tyrells around."
Shaera looked down. Jaehaerys pretended that he hadn't heard. She had made a huge mistake indeed. The broken betrothals so soon after the rebellion had necessitated too many concessions made to the Tyrells to mend the offense. Rhae hadn't said it with any intent to wound but the truth was, they could understand why she, her Dornish husband, and her children wouldn't feel at home at court right now. For the first time, Shaera wondered whether her father hadn't asked his sister to show understanding. Just as he had asked her to keep an eye on Rhaelle whenever possible. Rhae had managed to keep her ties with both the court and Storm's End and for a while, she was the only Targaryen Lyonel Baratheon would trust with Rhaelle. To some extent. Shaera still remembered the eagerness and hunger on her mother's face as Betha broked the seals on Rhae's letters.
"I wasn't sure if you would come," Jaehaerys said, filling the uncomfortable pause.
"We couldn't miss it," his cousin Ulric Dayne replied. "In fact, we were planning to come for the wedding but…"
Ashara stepped on his foot and drew hers back under the hem of her travelling dress so fast that hadn't Shaera been looking at them, she wouldn't have seen in at all.
"We've known him for many years," Lord Arthur said. "He was a good man – for a Stormlander, that is."
"He was my knight," Rhae said softly, her eyes far away in the past. "When I was a young girl, you know. He saved me from Aerion."
That was a story Shaera had heard only rumours about. Remembering her uncle, she could very well imagine the rest!
It felt odd to remember that once, Lyonel Baratheon had been a friend. A knight. When she thought about him, the only thing that came to her mind was his pride and the destruction he had wrecked.
The door opened and Rhaelle entered, looking incredibly tired. Her dark gown made her look younger. "I put her to bed," she said, referring to Lady Margrat. Then, she looked at the newcomers and a smile lit her face, making it young and eager, much like the child she had been. Not quite but the closest Shaera had seen her since their arrival.
"I'm so happy that you came," Rhaelle said softly and let herself be held in her aunt's embrace. Shaera looked at them and once again felt this heart-wrenching stir of something that was hopelessly lost.