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Rhaenyra remembers quite well how her mother looked. Or, at least she wants to believe she does.
She remembers visiting her mother the same day she died. But, Rhaenyra haven’t thought her alive for a long time before that, for what was the life of her mother? Continuous pain and feeling of disappointment, accompanied by never ending suffering…
Truth be told, she doesn’t think she has noticed it while her mother was still alive. She does not think she has ever thought much about it when she was a child, only in the last years, has she started noticing, that her parents marriage, wasn’t all about love. Her younger self started to realize that the love story her father told her, that the queen and king had never ending love for each other, was just all it was, a story with little to no truth to it.
But, she has lied to herself, thinking, maybe this time her mother will birth a healthy son...needless to say, she was awfully wrong about it…oh how Rhaenyra wishes she has been born a son, for at least then, her mother would not need to die.
She, after some more time, realizes that her wonderings won’t change anything, and that she only wastes her already scarce time, but oh how hard it is to keep herself from thinking about it. Thinking about what ifs, and reminiscing about her past choices, thinking about everything she could have done differently. And no matter how badly the Queen knows how foolish it is of her to just sit thinking, having a goblet of strong dornish in her hand, she just cannot help doing it anyway.
The queen, in those moments of reminiscing, thinks about if her sweet boy thought about her in his last moments… Has he blamed her? In the throes of terror and utter fear, has he thought about his mothers decision to send him as a messenger to the storm’s end? ...Oh, she will never know… however she does know that if she have not send him to that damned keep, he might have been still by her side, cheering her up.
She often starts thinking about her long gone lovers in such moments of weakness. Her gentle and sweet Harwin who was oh so loving, and so kind and sweet...she thinks she loved him. And sometimes, she also hated him just a little bit. For he was so perfect, and most of the times, she absolutely loved it. But sometimes, oh just sometimes, she hated how kind he was, because how dare he be so kind it makes her want to sneer? How dare he be so loving it disgusts her? She thinks there is something wrong with her. If not his strong genes, perhaps they could have continued their little love affair without that much of the bastardy rumours.
And her wild sweet Laena, who was oh so passionate and oh so gorgeous...she would love to hold her again, to be in her embrace again, to taste her just one more time. She oft imagines her as her queen consort, with her beautiful white locks, and her black freckled skin and her oh so gorgeous body and face, all people looking at her glorious queen, wanting, lusting, but never being able to as much as touch. She imagines that such dream would be her reality if she were born with a cock. She wonders if Laena ever thought about her when she was fucking with her uncle, when she again and again were a whoring around in pentos... if only she was born a son, Laena would probably be her Queen consort, her lover.
A knock on the doors of her solar has taken her out of her tired and in her opinion, foolish thinking, for reminiscing about her past, won’t win her her throne, neither will it bring back her son nor daughter. And so, she abandons her wishful thinking and downs the remainder of the strong dornish red in her goblet, to see just which advisor has decided to doubt her today, coming to her with their petty problems, and whinings about the unjust behaviour they were subjected to.
What an irony, truly.
In her recent times, after the start of the war and the losses she has taken, her thoughts turn to ones of dark nature. She oft imagines wrapping her ringed, cold hands around their wrinkled throats and slowly increase the pressure on their their necks, watching their life fade from their eyes, and look as their shining eyes go blank and dull, all of the intensity vanishing. She likes that thought, their lives vanishing together with her anger...If were she a son, people would say her anger was righteous, but alas, she is a woman, so such thoughts make her just a cruel bitch. Oh well, it is something she has grown accustomed with.
She wonders when has she accepted the injustice. The queen wants to weep at the thought, even thought she knows it is foolish, an useless self pity which will only make everything more problematic and tiring. How utterly pathetic indeed.
No matter, for another, louder and more urgent knock comes at the door, which reminds her that she doesn’t have the ability to stop time to have just a moment longer for her to wallow in her calm self pity. Allas, that isn’t to happen, for she already rises from her seat, and calls out towards the obnoxious, oh so obnoxious visitor standing behind the doors of her solar.
„What is it?” Rhaenyra asks in a strong tone of voice, which is deceptively calm seeing the chaos in her mind. She doesn’t really think it truthfully important, for what are the burdens of her mind, when there is a war going all around her? She doesn’t perceive her inner burdens as important as the lives of her children, for her children is the only thing she truly cares for. Them, along with her throne, are the two singular things that occupy her mind the most.
„Your Grace, there has been a troubling sight on the horizon” the voice of one of her Queensguard, rings behind the doors. Lorent Marbland, she recognizes.
„And, what is this troubling sight?” The Queen asks quite irritated, for what could be so important, to interrupt her mindless reminiscing? To interrupt her wallowing in her self pity, should be a crime, she thinks. What cunt of a lord has decided to ruin her already such pathetic day? The audacity…
There is a moment of charged with tension silence, and when the woman grows impatient and is about to speak again, the queensguard speaks up again. „the dragons Silweriwng and Vhagar, are currently flying in our direction. And both have riders.” The last part, the knight has said quite quietly and hesitantly, and only after a moment of silence.
That stops Rhaenyra in her tracks.
...What?
„Who is the rider of silvering?!” The Queen demands while heading to the doors, already her mind imagines the most dire of possibilities, and in the middle of the chaos of her mind, she just thinks about how fucking tired she is, how bad her head hurts and how desperately, pathetically she just wants a break, without any lords, dragons, and wars troubling her mind.
„We do not know, my Queen” The man says in a respectful, slightly hesitant voice.
Rhaenyra was feverish, furious and anxious. And yet...the tone of voice the Queensguard used, gave her an ember of pleasure, a gleam of dark satisfaction showing in her eyes, which disappears as quickly as it appeared, unnoticed by anyone, seeing as her silhouette is the only one in her chambers, with the loyal, vigilant guards not daring to come into her chambers without being called upon or hearing noises of worrisome nature, that could mean there was something, or someone potentially threatening the life of their queen.
She found herself having these feelings more and more often, more and more intensely, and more and more dark… For she remembers being satisfied when people respected her, but she doesn’t remember having any major satisfactions from people obeying her when she was a teenager. But now? She finds almost perverse satisfaction in seeing people bow to her, and hesitate to speak. She thinks she should be disgusted, or at least disturbed. But, she finds herself not really caring, because, why should she care for some meggle emotions of hers, when she has so much of sadness, anger and anxiousness in her heart and mind, that it overtakes any and all positive emotions and thoughts?
„Fortify the castle, and ready yourself for attack” she finds herself speaking in an authoritarian tone, and with a stelly expresion, and determination in her eyes, she readies herself for whatever the gods will grant or throw at her. For she may be a lot of things, but she is not a coward cowering in fear before her kinslayer of a half-brother.
And so she steps through the doors and walk with a sure step towards the outside of the castle. Servants, guards and lords alike bowing to her with various degrees of sincerity. A delicious feeling, if you would ask her. But she puts not much thought to it, for she had an important quest and one she was not about to abandon. The quest being meeting the approaching dragons, with her own.