There were two babes in the Tower of Joy.
Two babes tied so closely to their parents, Ned had to make the decision.
One with hair like raven feathers, eyes as grey as steel, and a face of a true Stark. The other, with hair like moonlight, eyes lik...
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She had been here before, she had seen this field before. Maybe not physically, but Rhae remembered it as she looked across both sides. The red grass flickering in the wind, the field stretching for miles around her with tall blades and wild reeds. Rhae reached out like she had once before, her hand feeling the soft prickles running across her palm, bending against themselves at the soft force that she used.
It was the red blades that had once confused her, sent her mind boggling; but now, it was clearer than ever. To one side, men dashed upon their horses, soldiers running behind them as banners of black rippled in the wind; and on the other, banners of red. It was the Dance of Dragons, but it wasn't all at the same time. Blackfyre Rebellion? "Where are we?" She questioned Bran, finding herself at the edge of the tree line, like an observer.
He too looked around, unsure. "I don't know." He didn't seem to know a lot of things considering he was supposed to be the Three Eyed Raven, whatever that was. Rhae moved forward from the treeline, her hand settling on the bark as she hovered just outside of the safety, watching as the men didn't stop in their advances. The horses kicked up thick piles of mud, splattering their legs and laying waste to the red grass; while the men stepped behind, their boots slipping in the mud as their eyes peered out from the slit of their helmets.
The one on the red side was tall; even from his place on the horse, she could tell he carried height to him as his shoulders were broad, and his arms muscular beneath plates of armour. His pale hair had been pulled back into a bun, a single piece hanging from the front as he stared with deep purple eyes in front of him at the other commander.
On the black side, was a man with skin as pale as milk, his long pale hair dancing around his waist, as two red eyes watched the other. What was most striking about him, wasn't the sharp sinister features of his face, or the smirk upon his lips but rather the blood red birthmark that clung to his neck, feather like edges touching at his cheek and chin. She knew who he was, he was Brynden Rivers - the Bloodraven; and the other must have been Daemon. "The First Blackfyre Rebellion." Bran stated, Rhae nodded.
"Daemon and his sons die here; they both have the weapons of Aegon and Visenya Targaryen." These were the stories she had hated the most, the ones her brother was always interested in because it involved killing their enemies. Rhaenar had always thought it sad that the Throne had caused such a rift between the children of the House, that they had to slaughter one another to prove their claims. It was funny really, she found it sad but had she not done the same? Had she not carried the Blackfyre name and killed Daenerys? At the time she hadn't known she was a Targaryen, but it was funny how life seemed to go round in a circle.
