❝ If there was ever two people who deserved a happy ending, it would have been us. ❞
The Fates were against Malkym Thorne and Rhaenrya Targaryen from the start. No matter what decisions they made, or paths they took, it all lead to the same end. But...
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{ Rhaenyra }
✧✦✧
𝕴t was truly bizarre just how quickly things could change, from being so happy and peaceful to despairing. In fact, it had taken less than a day for this to be the case.
Rhaenyra stood as stoically as she could manage, staring on at the funeral pyre that was in front of her, holding her mother and, now dead, baby brother. Every instinct in her was begging for her to cry and scream about the unfairness of all of it, but she was not allowed.
She could not cry, not now that everyone was watching. It was frowned upon. She was the princess, and thus, she had to remain strong for all those around her. Weakness would lead to them not respecting her.
Her family surrounded her, all dressed in black with their heads bowed. Alicent was on the other side of the princess, and Rhaenyra could see that, further away, by his uncle, was Malkym Thorne. The older teenager's head was bowed, though he looked up to catch her eyes, but Rhaenyra could not make out the expression on his face.
The sea crashed against the cliffs as Malkym nodded, before bowing his head once more. Rhaenyra wished she was allowed the luxury of not having to watch this, but she knew that she did not have a choice to make.
"They're waiting for you." Rhaenyra stiffened at Daemon's voice, before starting to speak as best as she could through the tears that threatened to overwhelm her.
"I wonder if, during those few hours my brother lived, my father finally found happiness." Rhaenyra whispered.
"Your father needs you." Rhaenyra wanted to turn and shout at her uncle, remind him that she too had just lost her mother and sibling, that this was just as unfair on her as it was on any other member of the family. She was ten and four, she was still a child, a child that needed her father, "more now than he ever has."
"I will never be a son." Rhaenyra turned to look at her father, who was struggling to breathe. She stepped forward, staring up at the dragon on the hill above them. As hard as she tried, she could not form the words she had to say. She could not find a way to ask the dragon to burn her mother's body. Turning once more, Rhaenyra begged for her father to issue the command but he did not, so she forced her mouth to work. "Dracarys."
The dragon stepped forward, before unleashing a wave of flames onto the plinth as Rhaenyra turned away. She could not bear this.
✧✦✧
"Princess?" Rhaenyra took a deep breath, brushing her tears away at the sound of someone's voice. Turning, from her place at the Weirwood tree, she turned to look at who had spoken. Malkym stood behind her, still dressed in his dark clothes from the funeral, his dark eyes sad.
