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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It felt wrong to attend a feast when the dead were only just finished burning, the scent of smoke still clinging to their clothes as they sat around long tables. It was good, to be without any threats for a short time, smiles on the faces of the men that had fought them. But as Rhaenar's eyes ran across the lit candles, and the food filled tables provided by the Reach, her heart sank.
It had become notable that the Dornish armies weren't there, that Oberyn wasn't mingling amongst them all with careful steps. Something had happened, and everyone could see. Some thought it was due to losing his daughters, others speculating that something had happened between the pair; and of course those ones were right, but she wasn't about to announce exactly what had caused the split between Dorne and House Targaryen.
It felt empty up there with Jon to one side and Aegon to the other, Varys beside him with Missandei and Torgo on the corner. Tyrion was laughing with his brother on the centre table in front of her; Sandor and the others also mingling as they drank heavily from tankards. She had yet to find out who it was that whispered in the ear of Oberyn, who slipped the news to him, but for tonight, Rhaenar would let it settle.
The food in front of her was redundant, the only thing that may sate her was the wine on her left. She could feel the weight of Jon's gaze on her, but Rhaenar refused to meet it. Pursing her lips, her eyes settled on the Lords of the Stormlands, of them being stripped of their Overlord.
Her eyes turned to Ser Barristan, the Knight sitting with the other Stormlands as they chatted animatedly. It was only fair that Robert Baratheon's bastard was reinstated, with their approval of course. Rhaenar slipped from her place, the hall growing quiet as she made her way to the Storm Lords before sitting beside them. "Your Grace." She heard, Ser Barristan's tone rising above the rest as she offered a demure smile to them.
"Ser Barristan, Lords of the Stormlands." Rhaenar greeted back.
"Your Grace, our condolences for the losses you've sustained." Lord Buckler offered behind a heavy tankard, his beard threatening the foam along the rim of his cup as he sipped.
Her head nodding, wishing she had her own glass as the indigo softened to him. "I thank you Lord, and offer my own for the men you've no doubt lost." The Stormlands had been vital in defending the South, they had made a debt for Rhaenar that she could never fulfil. "Your men, both archers and your foot soldiers..." Her head shook, trying to find the words. "Without them I don't think we could have saved as many lives as we had, I am indebted to you."
