They came gradually, sometimes one a day, sometimes several at a time. The Great Lords and Ladies of Westeros. All whom Rhaena had summoned answered her, and she greeted them all and ensured that they were provided comfortable accommodation, though she did not fail to note that with them, the Great Houses also brought with them their banners. She had hoped to see Robb. It would have brought her a great deal of comfort to see him, but he remained in the North and instead had sent his brother and sister in his stead as his representatives. The King in the North belonged in the North. Although disappointed, Rhaena almost wept upon seeing Sansa and as the two women reached one another, they embraced with a fervent gladness. When they parted, Rhaena was smiling. Murmuring softly to Sansa, she almost laughed as the auburn haired beauty began to croon and fuss over her, noting the shadows under her eyes, the hollows of her cheeks and the limpness of her hair. As perhaps the only person who truly understood Rhaena's grief, as well as Rhaena herself in a manner a man never could, Sansa had taken her hand and held it tightly, promising that she would be there whenever her friend needed. It took all of Rhaena's self-restraint not to simply sink into Sansa's shoulder and hide away from the world.

Instead she thanked Sansa, and only then did she look behind her to where Bran sat in his rolling chair, pushed by Brienne. A twist tore at her heart, one of resentment and anger. Bran looked at her with such little emotion that Rhaena felt a nauseating desire to strike at him and scream. She withheld the urge, and instead led them to where they could have their men pitch their tents. With little room in the ruined streets of King's Landing, the tents had to be raised within the fields outside. Soon an entire sea of colours rose across the plains, stretching beyond the rise and even as far as the Kingswood. It was impossible to count them all and soon enough Rhaena gave up, merely watched them as they were raised from the ramparts of the outer wall, clothed in sable and indigo. When a rush of air rose like a roar in her ears, Rhaena lifted her head to see Rhaegal soar over her with a powerful cry, gliding over the encampments as if to ensure that all were behaving cordially and maintaining the peace. Once he had circled the numberless tents, he then arced around and returned to Rhaena, landing upon one of the parapets with a chitter as his tail snaked down the scorched stone, brushing next to her as Rhaena naturally lifted her hand in order to touch him, acknowledging his presence and offering her affections.

When the sound of wheels turning over sound reached Rhaena, her back straightened and her shoulders tensed whereby she refused to turn around as Bran was pushed forwards by Brienne, who had obliged the young lord's request to be taken to where Rhaena had been seen upon the ramparts observing the field of forces as they pitched their tents. Since it was rare for Bran to make a request, Brienne had received leave from Sansa, who she knew would be safe with her sister Arya beside her, to take Bran where he willed. Once she had pushed the wheelchair bearing the broken young man to come to a rest beside the dragon princess, Brienne bowed then drew back, knowing that it was not for her to linger now that her task was done. Beside a princess who knew her way around a blade and a dragon beside her, Brienne did not imagine that any harm would befall Bran Stark. So she left, not knowing the bitterness which burned in Rhaena's entire body towards Bran who had interfered where he should not have. Clenching her teeth so tightly together, Rhaena imagined she might crack her own teeth as she struggled to keep from seething. Part of her did not want to say a single word to Bran, finding it easier to blame him and be done with it. Still, she could not keep the gnawing question at bay, feeling it claw at her throat as it demanded to be voiced until finally, she could resist no longer. "Why?" It was all she needed to ask and Bran immediately understood her. Why stop her? Why save her? Why keep her alive when she had been ready and willing to die with her sister? All these questions merged into that one word, yet still Bran did not answer. He too looked upon the brightly coloured tents, seemingly made more vibrant against the pale, colourless sky. Although there in body, his mind drifted as it often did where the world before him fell away. Still, he heard her. Part of Bran would always see Rhaena wherever she was, whether it was near or far.

"It was not yet your time." Quiet but certain, Bran gave Rhaena his answer. It did not soothe her hurts, nor did it soften her anger. Hissing through her teeth, she turned on her heel and walked away from Bran, leaving him alone upon the ramparts as Rhaegal gave a withering shriek into the sky before taking flight, the rush of his wings billowing over Bran who did not even turn his head as Rhaena walked away from him. Unmoving he remained there until Brienne returned to fetch him, asking nothing and simply turned his chair and pushed him away. From where she stood behind him, Brienne was unable to see the creases which gradually drew across Bran's expression, the furrow of his brow, the wince of his mouth and the press of his eyes as he closed them shut against the sensation of something akin to a building pressure force itself against his chest. His mind filled itself with the image of Rhaena, spinning as she danced under the leaves of the godswood, laughing as her hair flowed in sheets of spun snow, eyes bright and shining as she then reached for Bran the boy and had him spin with her until he too was breathless and laughing, where they tumbled to the ground with heads whirling from dizziness. It was one of Bran's favourite memories, and as he looked upon the past, hid himself from the emptiness of the present.

Neither Sansa nor Arya questioned him of what he had wanted from Rhaena and for that, he was grateful. He would not have told them even if they had, returning to the motionless, passive existence that he was by the time Brienne pushed him into his tent. It would not be long now. Soon the last of the heads of the Great Houses would arrive and the council will convene to decide the fate of Westeros, as well the fates of the traitors and criminals who deserved to face justice for their actions. All held their breath in anticipation, even beyond the borders of the city. Each household, town and city awaited the cry of ravens bringing them the news, to tell them the decisions of those who stood above them, and prayed the words carried upon the wings of the ravens would no longer bear dark tidings. No more war. No more death. Winter was already here, ad no one was prepared to face it. When finally the time came to gather, Grey Worm went to Rhaena in her chambers, stoic and reassuring in his presence as he entered then simply waited. She stood at the balcony as she often did, simply staring into nothingness, though when she heard him enter, turned her head in order to view him. Nodding her head silently in acknowledgement, Rhaena moved towards him but just before passing, lifted her hand in order to allow it to rest upon the crook of his arm, his hands held stiffly behind his back. "Torgo Nudho…" The words caught and died on her throat.

Studying his princess carefully, Grey Worm began to understand a little of what she was attempting to say to him. Words had never been his gift as they were Missandei's, and although emotion and feeling had been beaten and trained out of him since he was but a small boy, the fullness of emotion his princess revealed to him was strong enough to be fully understood even by the likes of himself. Silently he turned, but rather than stepping away, Grey Worm gently took Rhaena's hand and replaced it into the crook of his arm so that she could lean upon him if she required, understanding that what came next might be difficult for her to bear. Although she was not Daenerys, his queen, Rhaena was still a treasure to be protected. He could not offer her soft words of comfort and understanding as others might, but he could offer her all that he had. Right now, it was his strength. The strength of his arm to lead her forwards, and the promise of his presence beside her at all times, even to be her shield. It was more than enough, more than words could ever convey, and so as Rhaena allowed herself one final moment of grief and brokenness before stepping forwards with Grey Worm at her side as she drew from his strength and went to meet what fate intended.

Rhaena could not bring herself to return to the throne room, not after what had happened there, so instead she had decided to host the gathering in the dragon pit instead. The excuse she gave was that she feared for the structure of the keep and would not risk anyone's life should the remaining foundations suddenly give way. As the hostess, Rhaena arrived first. Grey Worm brought her to the seat which had been prepared for her, simple in structure, dark of wood, with a single cushion to offer some comfort. It was identical to each and every chair present. Rhaena had no intention of distinguishing herself here, and so everyone would be treated as an equal. She sat upon the centremost chair, and one by one the Lords and Ladies of the Great Houses came to take up their seats. Tyrion sat to her left and Varys to her right, Grey Worm standing behind her the ceaseless silent sentry that he was. There they waited until the first of their guests arrived in the form of Gendry Baratheon, named by Daenerys after the Battle of Winterfell, who remained utterly oblivious to the history between the Targaryen princess and his own father. He grew to resemble his father more and more, and the memory of Robert haunted the darkest parts of Rhaena's mind. In his ignorance, he had smiled warmly and with deep sympathy to Rhaena and bowed with a hand to his heart, offering his silent condolences as he addressed her. It still took a great deal of control to look upon Gendry and not flinch.

Nodding to him in acknowledgement, Rhaena turned her hand outwards in order to gesture for him to sit and wait with her as the other lords and ladies arrived, grateful that Varys sat between her and the unwitting Gendry. One day she might tell him the truth, but what would that accomplish? At the very least now was not the time, so instead Rhaena pushed down the uncomfortableness she felt at Gendry's proximity and focused instead upon the arrival of her guests. With Gendry came Ser Davos Seaworth, who dutifully kissed Rhaena's hand whilst offering his condolences, his gentle and kindly eyes threatening to topple Rhaena into tears as she managed a shaky smile to him in gratitude for his words. Seeing that he was causing distress, Ser Davos said no more and merely sat himself beside Gendry in order to wait. Next, Yara Greyjoy strode with purpose and confidence, holding her head high until she stood before Rhaena whereby she lowered it out of respect whilst another lord from the Iron Islands accompanied her. "I am sorry for your loss; Daenerys Targaryen was everything a queen should be. I was proud to follow her. Now that she is gone, I would be glad to follow you." This was the first time Rhaena had met Yara Greyjoy, Theon's own sister. In her she saw what made the Ironborn what they were. It was evident in the stature of her body and the hardness in her eyes. She was salt and iron. There was the scent of the sea upon her as if it had seeped into her very bones. Rhaena, on the other hand, felt as dry and brittle as kindling.

"I am grateful to you, Lady Yara. Please, join us. Sit and be welcome." Nodding curtly, Yara selected a seat and sat herself upon it, stretching leisurely in order to make herself comfortable as her companion did the same. As each guest arrived, Rhaena greeted them in turn. Some required introductions, some were faces she had seen many moons past, and others she knew and loved better than her own. Most surprising to her, perhaps, was seeing little Robert Aryn, known more affectionately as Robin when he had lived in King's Landing during the time his father was Hand of the King. He was tall, no longer the sickly little thing Rhaena used to tickle and whisper stories too before his mother could find them and scream her hysterics. Gone were the reddened, rheumy eyes of the past, the swollen shape of his cheeks and in their stood was a young boy who now began to take on the likeness of his father. In spite of his early years, Robin Aryn seemed to have grown well, and under the guardianship of Yohn Royce, promised to continue growing into a splendid young man. Rhaena allowed herself a smile when she saw him, rising to her feet in order to kiss his cheeks before inviting him to sit. It did not matter that Robin had little memory of her, it was enough for her to see him well and cared for.

Before she could return to her seat, Trystane Martell arrived with his betrothed, Myrcella, bright and golden as always. Seeing her was to be bathed in warm sunlight and for a few brief moments, Rhaena felt her heart ease as she accepted Myrcella into her embrace and allowed Trystane to kiss her hand as she welcomed them, brushing at Myrcella's hair which had been woven with threads of gold and emeralds. A genuine beauty, both within as without. Rhaena brought them personally to their seats, whispering a promise to Myrcella that they would speak privately soon. Following them came Lord Edmure Tully whom Rhaena met with cordial warmth, allowing him to place a kiss upon both her cheeks as he thanked her for her invitation before beginning to speak of his journey from Riverrun, taking little time to subtly remind Rhaena of her time spent there and his hospitality towards her. forcing a smile to her lips, Rhaena pleasantly recalled her fond memories of Riverrun's beauty as she guided Edmure to his seat and had a servant quickly fill his hand with a goblet of wine in order to distract him. Already Rhaena felt her energy beginning to wane. Seemingly sensing this, Tyrion gently suggested she return to her own seat, noting that almost everyone had gathered and soon enough they would need to begin. Nodding, Rhaena followed Tyrion's words and sank heavily into her chair to rest.

The last to arrive were Samwell Tarly with his brother, Dickon, as well as Sansa, Arya and Bran with Brienne of Tarth. After each greeting, Brienne made to stand behind Lady Sansa, as was her place, however Rhaena called to her softly, causing the tall woman to jump slightly in surprise to be directly addressed by the princess. "There is a seat drawn for you also, Ser Brienne." Gesturing to the chair which Rhaena had prepared for the knight, Brienne's jaw slackened as she stared at Rhaena, a creeping flush rising up to her cheeks as the princess looked at her kindly. "As a respected knight, I would have your opinions heard upon this council. Take your seat, Ser. You have more than earned it." To this Sansa nodded in agreement, and so in great baffled bemusement, Brienne rather heavily sunk down upon the chair with a clatter of her armour until she settled, blushing awkwardly until the flush passed. With every seat now occupied, Rhaena knew she could hold off no longer. It was time to begin. With a single nod to Grey Worm, he stepped away in order to bring forward the prisoners. Drawing a deep breath, Rhaena dug her nails deep into the rests of her chair, threatening to break them and bleed.

When a tender hand came to rest atop hers, Rhaena pulled her eyes towards Varys who entreated her silently not to hurt herself, delicately plucking her fingers away from the scratched wood before patting her hand, assuring her that she was not alone and had nothing to be afraid of. If only it were true. Rhaena had everything to fear now. She was the last true Targaryen. There would be men and women aplenty with reason to kill her, and the one who wanted her dead most of all was being brought to her even as she waited. Brought in chains, but still. They did not understand. No one understood just how dangerous Cersei was. Rhaena began to bite down on her lip. She should have cut out Cersei's tongue, at least that way she would not be able to whisper poison into anyone's ears. Without her tongue she could not plot. Without her head she could not scheme. Rhaena should have killed her when she had the chance. It was foolish of her to be so weak. Perhaps it was not too late. Perhaps there was still time. Kill her now and the whole world would be safer. She had already killed one queen. What did one more matter?

As the panic continued to thrive within her, it opened the door to darker pathways in Rhaena's mind. Pathways to madness. In her head, a voice was screaming to simply burn them all. Burn them all and they cannot harm you. Burn them all and become both immortal and undefeatable. Tempting. It was tempting. All she would have to do was call for Rhaegal and it would all be over. She would be safe and perhaps finally she might rest easy. The promise of a dreamless night of sleep was perhaps the most tempting of all. She should do it. Do it now. Now. Ragged breaths betrayed Rhaena's frantic state, and when Tyrion looked across to her, immediately recognised that wild, unreasonable look in her eye. He had seen it in Daenerys too. Panic seized him, a cry rising in his mind as Tyrion reached out and grasped hold of Rhaena out of pure desperation, perhaps a little too tightly but the sharp burst of pain seemed to snap Rhaena back into focus as she gasped and jolted, eyes widening as she stared until slowly, the burning wildfire settled. She looked at Tyrion, sharing his pained expression as she recovered herself. Such unbidden thoughts terrified her, more so the suddenness of their grasp upon her, but as she felt the firmness of Tyrion's grasp upon her, Rhaena allowed herself to feel a sense of safety from his touch. If she could not trust her own mind, then she would put her entire faith in Tyrion's, for she knew his to be sharp and tactful, and it would never lead her astray. Silently uttering the words to thank him, Rhaena forced herself to look ahead and straighten her back, rearranging the flow of her gown and draping sleeves in order to present herself with a regal air before returning to the task of waiting.

Soon enough, their waiting ended. Grey Worm returned with Sandor Clegane escorting the two prisoners brought from Dragonstone, flanked by Unsullied guards as they were brought before the conclave of former vassals and servants. Together, Jaime and Cersei Lannister lifted their heads to face those that would judge them. Although prisoners, neither had any right to complain of mistreatment. Rhaena had been meticulous on that count. Both had been given plentiful food and good wine to drink, soft feather mattresses and warm coverings for their beds, torches lit at all times, a servant each to clean their chamber pots and help them wash once every other morning as well as Maester Pylos to attend to their ailments and wounds. Jaime had been shaved and his hair trimmed, and both wore fresh clothing of fine silk and satin. They were perhaps the finest looking prisoners Rhaena had ever seen. He had least had the decency to look humble. Cersei, however, had recovered from her terror and now stood proudly with her lips pressed into a thin, unpleasant line. A pulse of hatred coursed through Rhaena as her eyes narrowed, meeting Cersei's as both enemies began to imagine all the horrifying ways one might kill the other.

No one dared speak as the weight of moment expanded, reaching even the smallest crevasse of the dragon pit with the tension building layer upon layer until it was almost impossible to breathe. Still Rhaena maintained her silence, hoping that Cersei would choke upon it. Eventually the uncomfortableness was too much to bear, prompting Sansa to speak first and ask after her brother Jon. She was met with cold disdain from Grey Worm, wearing the same scowl which seemed to be permanently etched into his face. "He is our prisoner." This made Sansa glance quickly to Rhaena, contemplating the politics of this moment as they pointedly the prisoners that had been brought before them. There was nothing Sansa would enjoy more than watching Cersei suffer what she deserved, but she had journeyed south with one intention only, and that was to see Jon freed. She could not bring herself to believe that Rhaena would ever allow any harm to befall Jon, though she was no longer naïve enough to think that some pretty begging and appeals to their sisterly bond might persuade Rhaena to relinquish and forgive Jon for his crimes. Sansa knew that he needed to be punished and that in the matter, Rhaena's hands were tied. It would have to be done carefully and an agreement reached that satisfied all.

"He should be here. At the very least he deserves a chance to defend himself before his fate is decided." But Grey Worm blankly refused to compromise, his hatred of Jon Snow boiling within him like a venomous snake.

"Such a traitor does not deserve mercy. Only justice. Jon Snow killed our queen. He will die a traitor's death." But Sansa, who had developed an iron-hard countenance over the course of her later years, was not belittled or frightened by Grey Worm's tone as she levelled her calm gaze upon him and spoke with assuredness as she gave her reply.

"If you were to look outside the walls of your city, I can give you thousands of reasons why harming Jon Snow is not in your interest. The men of the North will defend Jon to the last." Bristling, Grey Worm pointedly noted that Lady Sansa would also find thousands of Unsullied who would disagree with her. Yara Greyjoy also launched into the debate, noting that she had sworn allegiance to Daenerys and that she would not forgive the man who had killed her after freeing the kingdoms from the whoring tyrant. She had sneered at Cersei as she spoke. It was her view that the Unsullied should be allowed to tear Jon to pieces with their bare hands, however Arya pointedly warned that any further suggestion to kill her brother would be answered with her blade to the offender's throat. All the while they bickered, Cersei watched with a silent sense of satisfaction. Good. Let them claw one another apart. It would only serve her better. Perhaps her situation may not be as dire as she perhaps first thought. They were lawless and ununited. All the better for taking back the control she had lost and driving them further and further apart. Gods be good, each would destroy the other and leave her the sole survivor. The glint in her eye did not go unnoticed, however, as Rhaena was still watching Cersei with intense focus. Realising that Cersei was enjoying the argument, Rhaena raised her hand whereby Grey Worm immediately fell silent, as did the others.

"Jon will have his fair trial, I give you my word. However, we are not here to discuss his crimes, but rather the crimes of those who stand before us." Taking command of the meeting, Rhaena effortlessly put to rest any rising tempers with a few softly spoken words. Once she was certain that Grey Worm and Sansa would not strike up again and that neither Yara nor Arya would bare their steel at one another, she allowed her hand to return to rest beside her. "My Lords and Ladies, I present to you Cersei Lannister, formerly the wife of Robert Baratheon, and beside her, her brother. Jaime Lannister, who served in the Kingsguard." Knowing that referring to her only as Robert's wife would anger her the most, Rhaena allowed herself a little smirk as she did so. "We are here to judge the weight of their crimes and decide upon their punishment and fate." Continuing to gaze only upon Cersei, Rhaena Targaryen sat in utter comfort as the long awaited revenge finally began to unfurl before her. This moment…she had waited all her life for, and nothing was going to keep her from drawing every ounce of satisfaction from the ordeal that she could.