Rhaella Targaryen is daughter of a King and she is the sister-wife of another. All her life she's been Princess or Queen, people have known her as such, treated her thus and so she had moulded herself to their expectations. She stands tall, undaunted by cruel words and unkind whispers. Her head is held high despite the marks that cover her arms and the pain in her chest. And for all this she is locked in her chambers with her small children and dark thoughts. Aerys hates that she is not yet broken, a puppet in his hands, she knows. For that reason she stubbornly persists.
Her fingers touch the stone walls, cold and harsh underneath her fingertips. The dark colour brings her sorrow, just as Aerys' visits bring her grief. He comes to her at night to torture her with news of her son, and lies and lies and lies until Rhaella refuses to acknowledge him anymore. Then he becomes violent, and the Queen prays her children, sleeping in a close by chamber hear nothing. She prays they dream of lemon cakes and sweet summer fruits. Her dreams are filled with smoke and fire and death; the dragons come to life, bright eyes burning with matchless fire.
"Your spawn has gathered an army in hopes of defeating me," her husband tells her, his face distorted in the candlelight. "I think I shall give you a present soon. After all, you have pleased me well enough."
Wary, Rhaella looks his way. "I thank you, Your Grace, but I deserve no such gifts." She tries so very hard to dissuade him. As the smile blooms on his features she feels the blood freezing in her veins. The Queen cannot even open her mouth to ask what he wants to give to her.
"While Rhaegar is a traitor, I know that as his mother, soft-hearted as you are, you shan't forsake him. It is admirable." His hand touches hers in what is to be a comforting gesture. "Once I have finished with him I shall return him to your arms." And he says it like he's being magnanimous.
All the blood drains from Rhaella's face. "He is our son, my King. Our first-born." She would fall to her knees if not for his grip on her shoulders. "I am your sister. If ever you loved me, Your Grace, spare him." It's useless to beg mercy from Aerys, but she tries all the same for the child born out of her. Rhaegar is the child she loves best of her three. Viserys is too much like Aerys, and Daenerys is born to a woman full of regrets. "Please, brother."
"It is too late, my Queen," he mocks her softly. "I've tried, do you not remember? You, yourself, asked him to stop this foolishness." Allowing her to fall, Aerys steps back. "I have business to attend to."
Finally alone, Rhaella allows the tears to fall. "Monster," she whispers, chocking on the word, the sob catching in her throat. Her nerves feel raw, her heart torn. If she were to look outside she would see the moon shining silver like her Rhaegar's hair. And the sky would be the inky colour of a past lover's eyes. Rhaella supposes it matters little now that she no longer recalls the exact shape of his face or the sound of his voice.
In her youth, not long before her marriage to Aerys, she loved a knight. He was a hero of songs, or so she thought. Ser Bonifer Hasty had made her heart beat like a wild thing. The union with her brother was forced upon her, and Rhaella had accepted with a bowed head. However she would not give her brother the privilege of being her first. That she'd given to Bonifer, with his magnificent dark hair and stormy blue eyes. He'd been tall and handsome, every maiden's dream. And gallant, she remembers; Ser Hasty had crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty. And she gave herself to him before falling into Aerys' clutches.
How she'd loved him. Rhaella still mourns for the lost love. At first, when Aerys had not been the insane man he is now, she thought she might find contentment with him. Especially as Rhaegar had come to them fairly fast. A household full of children is what Rhaella had dreams of those days. But after that first success they'd tried in vain to produce another child. The rebellion followed and Aerys fell into his madness, and Viserys was born. Daenerys came when she'd not been expecting.
One of those crazy thought that has kept occurring to her over the years bother her tonight too. Rhaegar has always been more like her. As much as Viserys is his father, Rhaegar takes after her. And sometimes, when the lights dim, she wonders if her eyes deceive her or if she's gone as mad as her husband when she swears she can sees a ghost of Bonifer in him. Over and over again she compares dates in her mind, but she can never be sure. However, Rhaegar is a Targaryen, this she knows to be true. "That monster will not touch my son," she promises herself. "He won't touch any of my children."
These promises shrivel and crack even as she utters them. But Rhaella is determined. She will find a way to save her children from this creature of the dark that her husband has become. It is such a pity that Aerys has degenerated into this. Not so long ago they were both children bathed in the sun, brother and sister with their life in front of them. Things could have been so different. Happiness had been so close, and now it is just a memory, dust; long dead and buried. It is gone.
Queen that she is, Rhaella commands them to bring her fresh fruit. "Apples," she specifies. They bring her many more fruits besides, but sure enough the tray also has apples on it, and a peeling knife too. The cold metal slides inside the sleeve of her dress, disappearing underneath folds of silk. And the Queen plots, silent as a shadow.
Night gives way to day, and the sky bleeds with the sun's rising. The scent of violence lingers into the sheets, and Rhaella does not sleep at all. Her eyes refuse to close. She lets her thought consume her, the feel of steel in her hand giving her unknown strength. Somehow she is surer of herself, ready to face the world. And when the time comes it will she to save her brother. They would return to once was; two children in the sun, happy and free. If anyone can do that then it is her. She is Aerys' sister, it is her duty. And Rhaella is nothing if not mindful of her duty.