Rotting flesh has a very distinct smell, one Rhaegar has learned to ignore over the course of his life in the Red Keep where the dead in Flea Bottom are not cared for as they should be. The wind carries the stench of unwashed bodies and shit up to the Red Keep and the smell lingers, caught in every nook and crevice it manages to find its way into. Rotting flesh smells like feces and sweat and the cheap scented oils that the common folk will sometimes buy to cover their odor in place of actually bathing.
Rhaegar is used to rotting flesh, he is not used to the smell of burning flesh.
A heavy, charred thing that makes Rhaegar gag and choke whenever he smells it in his doublet or on the clothing of another.
Serala Darklyn deserved the punishment she was given in the eyes of the common folk who came to watch her execution just the day before. They'd cheered as she was forced to walk through them, naked and bloody and sobbing. Cheered and cheered until their cries sounded more like roaring then anything else. Rhaegar had watched as they'd thrown stones and rotting food at her, watched as one man had pulled her into the crowd and beat her near senseless before Oswald Whent managed to pluck her from the clutches of the common folk and all but carry her to the raised platform where she would be put out of her misery.
The knight had looked green in the harsh light of the midday sun as he'd tied the woman to a post.
Rhaegar did not blame him.
As much as he understood his father's wrath and desperation Rhaegar did not agree with it. And oh he had tried to talk his father into a less severe punishment but Aerys had merely called him a child and sent him off. He had not listened, had not wanted to listen, and Rhaegar could not make him. So he had sat beside his father and watched as oil was poured over the woman's head, the amber colored liquid had gotten in her eyes and open wounds... He thinks that it will not be the sight of her flesh blistering that will forever haunt him but instead the sound of her agonized moaning as she burned.
Without a tongue she could not beg nor could she truly scream, so she'd choked on sobs and thrashed and tried to wail as the fire ate away her body.
He had hoped that would be the end of it. His father's wrath had been great and none but a small child had survived the massacre. But even with the days Aerys has spent resting and eating and being tended too there is a burning in his eyes that makes Rhaegar oddly nervous.
Thankfully their stay in Duskendale is at an end. A new family has been given the lands and the Dun Fort, their loyalty assured, and none of the common folk have attempted to cause them trouble, there is not a reason to stay. They will leave for King's Landing on the morrow and Rhaegar is not sure how he feels about that. Relief, yes, for his father is alive and with time perhaps he will recover from the trauma he has suffered, but trepidation as well. Because all Rhaegar can think about is the glee that had lit his father's face as Serala Darklyn's body had been eaten away to little more then a pile of charred bones and ashes.
Perhaps returning to King's Landing will lift his father's spirits and soothe the memories of tortures dealt to him. It will be familiar settings, after all, and his father has always found a sort of comfort in Maegor's Holdfast that Rhaegar never has. Dragonstone is Rhaegar's home, Dragonstone is Rhaegar's haven. King's Landing is the seat of his family's power and one day Rhaegar will settle in the Red Keep and spend the rest of his days there with his wife and whatever children she will bear him but that day has not yet come and so he thinks of Dragonstone and the peace there, and soon his mind drifts. To King's Landing, to his mother, to Ostara.
She will be waiting in King's Landing, or so Tywin has said. Aerys has been mumbling about keeping the blood close, protected and safe, since Selmy rescued him and had insisted that the daughter of his cousin was not safe at Storm's End. So Tywin had written to Rhaegar's mother, insisted that she bring the girl to King's Landing as a lady-in-waiting to the Queen.
Rhaegar isn't sure how wise it is to bring her to the Red Keep while his father is in such a fragile state, his actions will be too unpredictable and while Rhaegar loves his father he is not so blind as to ignore the fact that he finds Ostara Baratheon fascinating in ways he should not.
More then one pretty woman has been taken to his father's bed while his mother's remains empty and cold. But Aerys' affections have always been fleeting things Rhaegar has never known his father to keep a mistress longer then a week. After Aerys has taken what they have to offer, sucked them dry and left them ruined, he dismisses them from the keep.
No bastard has ever come from his father's trysts with these women but it doesn't make it right.
Rhaegar thinks that he has a right to worry for the girl who will possibly be his wife one day, even if just a little bit. She's young, after all, and pretty and men have done terrible, evil things for far less. A sort of dread settles in the pit of Rhaegar's stomach at the thought. Surely no one would dare to touch her, especially now when the King's anger is so quick to summon and so hard to soothe.
A frustrated sigh escapes his mouth as he enters the stables of the Dun Fort where a boy with freckles and a mess of brown hair has readied his horses and is now tending to Arthur's. Rhaegar watches him for a moment before gathering the reins of his horse's bridle so that he can guide the gelding out to the courtyard where servants are preparing everything that the Targaryen host will need for their return to King's Landing.
Tywin Lannister is standing in the middle of the chaos, talking to one of his soldiers. The gold thread in his doublet shines brightly, a spiderweb weaving in and out of the maroon fabric covering his arms. Even without his sword and armor Tywin looks more a King then a Lord. The Lion of Casterly Rock offers him a polite inclination of the head when he notices Rhaegar watching him then his attention is back on the soldier and Rhaegar has the distinct impression that he's just been dismissed.
He... Finds he is not offended.
Rhaegar is, however, startled when someone throws their arm around his shoulders and pulls him closer to their chest. A quick glance confirms Rhaegar's suspicions and Arthur's grin is far to cheeky for his own good.
"Excited to be going home? I hear the Lady Ostara will be waiting for us when we return." Arthur chortles, eyes dancing with mischief.
"Lady Ostara will be there to greet us when we return to the Red Keep, yes."
"Are you looking forward to it? Having her in the Keep? It will make fostering a relationship much easier when she's close enough to actually speak to you... I find letters very tedious when it comes to matters of the heart." Arthur remarks.
For some reason Rhaegar finds himself bristling. "We've spoken plenty."
"Yes, I'm more then aware of the letters you keep hidden in your trunk."
"You've gone through my things? That's treason, Arthur."
"And yet you're not going to do anything about it." The sandy haired knight sighs, the glee in his eyes fading into something kinder. "I am not trying to embarrass you Rhaegar. I only think that speaking with Lady Ostara would be more beneficial then not."
"Ostara is my friend. Do our letters imply otherwise?" Rhaegar finds himself asking.
Arthur stares at him for a long moment, eyes distant but not unkind, finally he shakes his head.
"May I be frank?"
"You always are."
"I think that while your feelings for the girl are honorable and you hold no ill will the same cannot be said for her. She is younger Rhaegar, she knows her duty but she does not know you." Arthur states.
"And you would know anything about marriages."
Rhaegar doesn't tell him that Ostara knows him better then most, that despite everything Ostara likely won't marry him for duty if at all.
"I know women, Rhaegar, and Ostara Baratheon may be young but she is a woman still. Maybe it would be in your best interests to remember that a woman is perhaps one of the most dangerous creatures known by men."
Rhaegar resists the urge to roll his eyes, instead moving to toss his reigns over his horse's neck so that he can mount it. Once he's situated in the saddle, supple leather smooth against his legs, Rhaegar turns to Arthur.
"I will keep that in mind Arthur," Rhaegar smiles at his friend, "but perhaps it would be wise of you to remember that Ostara Baratheon is a child of noble blood and not one of the whores you sneak into your bed."
There is no anger in Arthur's voice, only amusement as he says, "I do not sneak them anywhere, Rhaegar. I have no reason to do so."
Rhaegar, unsurprisingly, does not deign his friend's statement with a response. It's no secret to anyone that Arthur takes women to his bed, not many, but enough. Pycell has often been seen bustling to and from his quarters with this elixir or that to ensure that the knight hasn't got a bastard on any of the pretty women he shares an evening or two with. He's very careful about his dalliances, Rhaegar will give him that much at least.
~X~
Ostara sighs as she packs up the last of her things into a trunk.
Her room seems empty.
All of her books and clothes packed away into trunks that will follow her to King's Landing where she'll act as the Queen's companion for the next several years.
Normally, Ostara wouldn't have gone. But she's used up all of her resources at Storm's End and the library at King's Landing is vast. Surely she'd be able to find something about these Others with the resources in King's Landing. All she'd really have to do is keep the Queen company every once in a while, that can't be too hard a task. Melisandre thinks it's a good idea for her to go as well.
The red woman will be traveling with her to King's Landing. Her and a small group of people that will act as Ostara's personal servants. Cerys and Daevyn are coming, to act as companion and protector. Ostara had been surprised to learn that but thankful for it none the less.
Ostara sighs as she makes her way over to the wardrobe where she places her hand upon the cool wood.
She's already spoken to the dragons on the other side, told them she would be travelling for some time and under no circumstances where they to come find her. They'd been upset, annoyed, but they're relented after a time.
There's enough food stored up to last the hatchlings until Ostara gets to King's Landing. It's amazing what a glamour and a couple of silver stags will get you. Ostara thinks that at the very least the hatchlings should be alright on their own for a few days. She left Melrin in charge just in case, it seemed like the best idea seeing as he was the only dragon capable of producing a steady flame when Ostara left.
He promised to look after the nest, Ostara trusts his sincerity enough to not fret... Much.
"My Lady, have you packed everything?"
Ostara turns to see Daevyn Sand standing in her doorwar.
He'll be coming with her to King's Landing, a Dornish bastard hired by her Lord father to keep Ostara safe during the trip to King's Landing. A personal guard and tutor. Apparently Tywin hadn't found much issue with it, Ostara isn't so sure about the king though. Whether he was opposed to the idea or not doesn't matter she supposes. Daevyn Sand is coming to King's Landing whether the King likes it or not.
Smiling, Ostara steps away from the wardrobe.
"Yes, of course. I was merely double checking." Ostara replies.
"Come," Daevyn commands, tone gentle, "It is time."
"Yes Master Sand."
With one last glance around her room Ostara gathers her skirts and makes her way out of her chambers and into the corridor where she can still see the servants carrying the last of her things to be packed away for the duration of the trip to King's Landing.
~X~
"Are you not excited Ostara?" Cerys asks, pretty eyes wide as their carriage rolls down the road made of packed dirt.
Ostara doesn't mind the carriage, she'd much rather be out riding with Daevyn and the others but the carriage isn't terrible. It allows her to card her fingers through Rubeus' fur while he rests his head in her lap. It also allows her to keep an eye on Melisandre's interactions with Cerys.
She's still not entirely sure if she should trust the red woman or not.
Maggy had told her to beware the Red Priest's shadowbinder. Melisandre is from Asshai, a place where shadowbinders are known to be quite prominent, and she's a Red Priest. It's not a coincidence.
"I am excited to see King's Landing again, yes, mostly because of the library." Ostara smiles at her friend.
"I heard the King loves balls... Is it true?"
"Yes, father says he throws at least three every year."
Cerys' eyes brighten a great deal and Ostara makes a mental note to teach Cerys to dance.
"It will be quite the opportunity," Melisandre intones after a moment, "to make friends in high places."
"Are we doing this now?" Ostara asks, she pretends not to see the way Cerys shifts closer to the window.
Russet eyes burn bright as Melisandre says, "Allies will be very important if you wish to succeed. For the night is dark and full of terrors."
"Yes, you've said that... Many times." Ostara retorts as she turns her attention back to her book.
"You do not believe."
"Oh, I believe. I just have better things to do then rely on superstition."
Melisandre smirks, "Like?"
The silver corners on Ostara's book flash as she lifts it up.
"Literally, anything else."
There is no anger in Melisandre's eyes, no rage, only a firm sort of amusement that makes annoys the hell out of Ostara.
Slowly, a comfortable silence falls over the occupants of the carriage. Cerys pulls a book out of Ostara's basket and begins practicing her letters, Melisandre leans her head back and closes her eyes to meditate or sleep Ostara isn't sure, and Ostara settles into the cushioned seat to watch the Stormlands go by in a slow procession of greens, browns, blues, and greys.
~X~
"It's been three days." Rhaegar says to Barristan Selmy one evening and the other man's eyes grow distant and hard.
"Aye, your highness, it has."
"Has anyone called for a maester?"
"Aye, multiple times and your father turns them all away." Barristan rubs at his chin, "Though, one was able to observe the King for a short time."
Rhaegar wants to pull at his hair, or rub a knuckle against his eye, or pinch the bridge of his nose in his frustration. It's been three days since they left Duskendale and in that time his father has shown very little improvement. He is quick to anger, hard to please, and his eyes dart about suspiciously whenever he is around too many people.
"What did the Maester say?" Rhaegar demands.
"That it is not uncommon for those who have suffered under torture to be suspicious of others for a time after the ordeal. He said it would likely pass with time and familiar settings."
"And that is all?"
"That is all, your highness."
"Thank you, Ser Selmy."
The knight offers a curt nod and a polite goodbye before leaving to see to whatever tasks he'd been off to accomplish before Rhaegar had stopped him. Rhaegar doesn't understand the uncharacteristic clenching in his gut, doesn't understand why he feels so unsure about the Maester's prognosis. It's not as though Rhaegar knows anything about healing, nothing that could ever help his father anyway.
Healing the mind is so much different then healing the body.
A body can be fixed with stitches, splints, bandages, and herbs.
The mind is not so easy.
So why would Rhaegar feel so apprehensive about his father's sickness? His father's trauma? Surely he will recover in time, surely the maester's have been able to examine him enough to be sure of their diagnosis.
Rhaegar presses his lips together instead of grinding his teeth at the thought of the Maester's being wrong.
Because if they are wrong and Rhaegar allows his father back into King's Landing where his mother and brother are, where Ostara will be, then Rhaegar will be no better then a monster. Even before this Aerys treatment of his wife had never been loving, he'd never hurt her badly but Rhaegar suspects his mother would never tell anyone that his father did strike her.
Something acidic rests in Rhaegar's throat as he leans back in the small chair set up in his tent.
If his father's torment at Duskendale has truly rendered him mad then Rhaegar will have no choice but to handle the situation. But how to do so when the state of his father's mind is so unclear? Rhaegar bites the inside of his cheek, he'll speak with his mother... And Arthur. Surely they will be able to guide him in his decisions if nothing else.
~X~
There were three ravens sat on a tree
Down-a-down, hay down, hey down.
And they were as black as they might be, with a down.
The one of them said to his mate:
"What shall we for breakfast take?"
With a down, derry derry derry down, down.
Ostara walks down the long, isolated stretch of ice she's found herself on.
There's no chill despite the snow blowing around her, no sound save the melody drifting through the air from somewhere off in the distance. Ostara thinks she sees something ahead, something small and black. But it's too unclear to be sure.
Down in yonder green field,
Down-a-down, hey! Down-a-down.
There lies a knight slain under his shield, with a down.
Down comes a follow doe,
As great with young as she might go.
With a down, derry derry derry down, down.
A stench rises in the air, forcing Ostara to scrunch her nose slightly as she makes her way further along the icy path.
She's getting closer to her destination. Ostara can make out the being singing. A crow with three eyes and a beak that never moves. It stares at her as she walks closer.
She lifted up his bloody head,
Down-a-down, hey! Down-a-down.
And kissed his wounds that were so red, with a down!
She got him up across her back
and carried him to the earthen lack.
With a down, derry derry derry down, down.
The crow hops closer to her, those eyes of his burning with something Ostara vaguely recognizes. Something that calls to her. Ostara crosses her arms over her chest and remains silent as she offers the crow her arm. Once he's fluttered up to perch on her forearm Ostara pulls him closer to her body to protect him from the snow as he sings.
It's harder to see here, where the wind and snow blow so fiercely.
She buried him before his prime,
Down-a-down, hey! Down-a-down.
She was dead herself, ere evening time, with a down!
Gods send every gentlemen.
Fine hawks, fine hounds and such a loved one.
With a down, derry derry derry down, down.
Suddenly the wind stops and Ostara can see out across the great expanse of snow.
The scream tears itself from her throat before she can stop it.
Bodies, hundreds upon hundreds of bodies litter the pristine white of the snow. They all lay scattered across the ground, their bodies twisted and broken, some are even laying in stagnant pools of red.
But that's not the worst of it. Ostara's seen dead bodies before. She's seen worse then this before. It's the fact that she recognizes some of the faces in the snow that makes this so horrific.
Cerys, Daevyn, her mother, her father, Robert... Stannis.
They all stare back at her slack jawed and distant eyed.
Will you survive the darkness, girl?
Ostara looks down at the crow and finds a mass of missing silver hair and rotting flesh in her hands instead.
She wakes with a scream lodged in her throat.