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After The Dragons Danced (A Rhaena Targaryen SI) -- 02. Outsiders
🕑 Added 2024-07-24 09:00:00 +0000 UTC9th Day, Fourth Moon, 131AC | The Red Keep - King’s Landing
BAELA
Baela swung her wooden sword swiftly, feigning right but instead going left, striking Rhaena's right wrist and making her drop her own sword. Before she could recover, Baela pointed her sword at her sister’s throat.
“Dead," she exclaimed as their chests rose and fell in heavy pants and sweat glistened from their skin. Her sister raised both her hands in surrender, as she often did after being disarmed, with her usual defeated look on her face.
“You're getting there, Rhae,” Baela told her, attempting to encourage her.
“Not fast enough,” her twin replied, with a sullen look on her face, cradling her wrist that was sure to bruise soon enough.
“You began your training less than a year ago,” Baela reminded her sister, “I followed Father into the training yard since I was old enough to walk. Your progress is remarkable.” Baela said, in as reassuring a tone as she could muster.
“I agree with Lady Baela my Lady,” Ser Corwyn Corbray added. Her sister's martial pursuits had been a recent development, and under Ser Corwyn’s tutelage, which began during her wardship in the Vale during the war, she had made remarkable progress. That was in their nature, Baela knew. Whatever endeavour they pursued, they would put an indomitable determination into it; they were their mother’s daughters, after all. Laena Velaryon had claimed the largest living dragon of her time, right under the king's nose, tilting the balance of draconic power to another house for the first time since the Doom of Valyria. According to their late grandmother's tales, their grandfather’s ambitions for the Iron Throne had been the greatest at the time, and were it not for her grandmother’s dissuasion, the dragons would have danced a few decades earlier than they eventually did.
“Thank you, Ser,” her sister replied before continuing, “What did Lord Stark decide on his executions?” she asked the knight. Ser Corwyn would serve as one of their brother’s regents once the wedding to join the two factions was done.
“They will happen tomorrow, and your grandsire has been spared from his sword.” the knight told them as he took their training swords, shields, and handed them to his squire for them to be taken to the armoury. That was strange to Baela. The Lord of Winterfell was hellbent on seeking justice, even for those who slew a usurper. However her sister intervened, it seemed to have cowed him considerably, just as Rhaena had said it would.
After wishing farewell to the knight, the two of them walked, arm in arm, back to the castle to bathe. It was an unspoken routine they had fallen into since reuniting. They rose at dawn, trained, and then proceeded to bathe together in the same tub, just as they had done when they were children. In Baela’s mind, it seemed to be such a long time ago. Memories of her father, mother, and her twin sister together in the resplendent mansions in the east always seemed blurry, for they were only four years of age when their mother died in childbirth and they returned to Westeros. Most of the memories they had of Laena Velaryon were in the form of stories told to them by their father, his eyes shining with love and grief as he did so. After that, they resided with their new mother on Dragonstone. Rhaenyra Targaryen may have neither been a good queen nor a good battle commander, but she had been a good mother who raised the two of them the same as she raised her sons; it was from her they learned how to do their hair the way Queen Visenya did (at least before Baela began chopping hers to a shoulder length), it was to her they went to when they first flowered, and she was oh so gentle in easing their shame and pain. Rhaenyra Targaryen gave them brothers as well, five of them; all loving, caring and different in their own way. Before the pain and grief and loss could come to the surface once more and cripple her, Rhaena interrupted.
“You think very loudly sister,” she japed.
Baela noticed that she was frowning then, and eased into a smile, albeit a small but genuine one. Even with all the people she’d lost, she was grateful that the person with whom she had shared a womb with had survived and returned to her healthy and whole, no matter the strange changes she had undergone this past year.
Rhaena had always been most like their mother; cheerful, charming and easily sociable. Baela was the one who was most like their father; moody, brooding and headstrong, Yet now her sister also seemed to have gained a spine of Valyrian Steel. 'War does that to people,' she surmised.
“The bath has been drawn, my ladies,” Lady Elinda Massey said to them once they reached their shared apartments, "If you need anything else, just ring for me. I shall be in the adjoining quarters.”
“Thank you, Elinda.” Baela appreciated Lady Elinda. She was another relic of their distant childhood. She had been the head of their mother’s household on Dragonstone and had endeavored to learn all their preferences, even the small ones: the food they liked, the times they preferred to eat, the soaps and perfumes they preferred to use, the scalding hot temperature of the water they enjoyed bathing in, the clothes they liked to wear, the material of the bed sheets they liked to use; linen for her, silk for her sister. She took great care in her work in ensuring their lives were as comfortable as possible and Baela knew she was indispensable.
Rhaena helped her unlace the leather tunic she wore when they trained, then undid the braids of her shorn hair. She, in turn, did the same for her luscious, waist-length silver tresses, and soon after, their clothes were all on the floor, leaving them as naked as the day they were born. It bore no shame to them; they had shared a womb, and no matter their differences and how they evolved over time, they would share their lives.Like all things, seemingly, their bodies had been changed because of the war. Rhaena had blossomed and grown even more beautiful, with her breasts and hips growing rounder and more shapely as her girlhood faded, while her skin remained flawless. However, the skin on Baela's stomach was twisted and scarred from the burns and battering she had received during her and Moondancer’s duel with the usurper and Sunfyre. She was also thinner as well; still regaining the weight she had lost when she had been a prisoner to said usurper, at a time she thought her death was all but assured. The first time they bathed together after the war, it had been hard. She had wept after looking at the mirror and seeing her form and differentiating it with her sister. Rhaena had come from behind and put her hands around her waist in an embrace as she let out her tears.
"You bare the marks of a warrior,” she reassured her, “it makes you 1000 times more beautiful than before, and fiercer than many could even hope to be." They stood there for an endless amount of time as her sister traced every scar, every swathe of skin that appeared mangled and twisted from dragonfire. Despite her calloused hands, Rhaena's touch was still as soft as ever. After a time, she turned and embraced her, with as much warmth and affection as she usually did, and Baela was assured that she was home. Both had been broken and bruised with injury and grief, but they were home.
Her sister took care to scrub her thoroughly as she did the same for her, and soon the water grew tepid and dirty with their sweat and grime. She took the basin next to their bath and washed the soap off their bodies. They then dressed each other; Baela in a resplendent tunic, an overcoat made to fit a woman's curves, and breeches underneath, while her sister wore a gown as jeweled and ornate as their mother preferred, though not too formal for a normal day in the castle.
“Have you decided yet?” Rhaena asked, breaking the comfortable silence between them.
“Decided what?” Baela answered, trying to play coy, but she knew what her sister was asking. There were four dragons that were alive at the moment. Silverwing, Sheepstealer, The Cannibal and Morning, two of whom were riderless. Rhaena had been trying to convince her to claim another dragon since they reunited. She had made excuses then, saying that no rider could take a second dragon. Her twin had dismissed her excuses, reminding her of the dragon’s egg that had hatched while they were visiting great-aunt Saera in Volantis, the hatchling dying only a few hours later. Now she had Morning, her pink dragoness that hatched from one of the three eggs she had taken with her to The Vale. Baela had tried to stall once again, claiming that they had to make sure their grandfather survived the Judgement of the Wolf. Her sister had not pushed her further on the matter, but Baela knew that Rhaena was aware of the truth of why she was hesitant to become a Dragonlord once more.
Baela was terrified. It was not the all-consuming, irrational fear that her brother had developed of dragons and anything concerning them, but she still feared nonetheless. Both her mothers were slain by dragonfire. Her father died during a dragon battle. Jacaerys, her betrothed, her Prince, the love of her life, had died the same way. Lucerys and Joffrey as well. She had not witnessed any of those deaths as Aegon had, but the pain lived in her heart all the same.
“Baela,” her sister called her, taking her arms in hers, “if you cannot do it for yourself, do it for Viserys.” At that, she was puzzled and she could not hold back her look of surprise.
“Viserys?” she asked, surprised.
Her sister sighed and continued, her eyes holding nothing but truth. “Aye, he’s alive, in Lys. Some powerful banking family has him hostage, biding their time until they can use him to gain influence on the Iron Throne. Morning will not be large enough to ride into battle for some years yet, and we need to retrieve our brother and return him home whole and unharmed as soon as possible.”
“How do you know this?” Baela asked.
To her credit, Rhaena did not hesitate. First, she made her swear to secrecy. Baela took her dagger and sliced the flesh of her palm, and Rhaena did the same with hers. It was the kind of oath sworn to the Gods of Valyria; their father had taught them that if such an oath was broken, the oath-breaker would combust into flames and die instantly. Though she rather doubted that, they both respected the sanctity of such a vow. Rhaena sat her down on the bed and began her tale, telling it in High Valyrian, the language of their ancestors; The Red Keep was still filled with ambitious men who wished to see their house vanquished, and it would not do for the rats in the walls to learn of their secrets.
She spoke of having memories of another life, another world that had many wonders and had seen many tragedies. In these memories, she was a warrior, fighting against men made of iron and steel who wished to kill and burn men made of flesh. In this world, the towers are topless, but unlike those in Valyria, they were made almost completely of glass. The people in her memories moved from city to city in carriages that fly, carriages that do not require horses to move. She talked of devices they had, like glass candles, that could conjure the forms of a person halfway across the world and speak as if they were in the same room. She talked of many more things, of how men of flesh thought themselves gods and made men of metal to be their slaves, but the metal men rose up in rebellion and began brutally killing the men of flesh to gain ultimate power over that world. Even with all that, the most surprising thing she said was that the people of that world read about them in stories. A scribe of great renown had written numerous tales of their world; from Aegon’s Conquest to the war they had just survived, and many more tales of their future. Before she joined the army to topple the tyranny of these insurgent metal men, she had read all these tales and knew them like the back of her hand. In her memories, she had been a teacher as well, giving knowledge to many eager students willing to learn their histories, be it distant or not. She knew the histories of that world extremely well, just as she knew many other things. She was an inquisitive soul that sated her curiosity with immense studies into many different subjects. Because of this, she was the one of the few who had been recruited by the kings of that world to end the war with the metal men. Using some wizardry Rhaena claimed she could not explain, her mind was to be sent back in time to a point before the men of metal in that world were created. They were to stop those who invented them from doing so, to prevent the death of billions. That was the last thing she remembered before she woke up in the Eyrie as the sun rose, to the song of her newborn dragon, Morning.
Baela stood dumbfounded, allowing her face to show the shock of all she had just heard. Rhaena was silent, her look pleading with her twin to believe her. Baela did believe her; she was her sister, they had shared a womb, there was no one in the world she trusted more. Moreover, Rhaena had never lied to her. Their father had told her tales, fables describing the founding of their Old Valyrian empire; that it was done by a man who had memories of a different world as well, but those tales were highly disputed. That man apparently became first among the Valyrian pantheon of gods, to be worshipped eternally since that time. The myths say it was he and his children who created the first dragons, performed the magic and rituals required to tame and ride them, and passed that knowledge down to their descendants as the empire they built grew in the peninsula of the Lands of Always Summer and expanded to the rest of the continent.
Her sister’s tale explained her change in behaviour and demeanour this past half year, as well. She had become more stoic, her face never betraying her emotions except in the privacy of their shared chambers. She was bolder as well; not that she was ever shy, but more willing to assert herself and her presence on others. Her sudden interest and quick progress in the training yard made sense as well. Moreover, most strangely, her sister now wrote a lot. From dusk until the candles wax sticks in their chambers are all melted and done, she wrote. She never questioned her on it, giving her the ample space she needed to grieve in her own way. Baela composed herself, her mind returning to the matter at hand.
“What happens to Viserys then?” she asked her sister.
“He shall be married. Alyn will learn of it while voyaging in Dorne, as a member of the family keeping him hostage will become Dorne’s prince consort. Viserys will be married to that family’s youngest daughter, who is of age with us, and he shall father a child on her soon after, before he turns thirteen, before Aegon does. That family then tries to poison Aegon, his wife, you and me, so that Viserys may become the undisputed king with their daughter as his queen. Their power and wealth will wax, as they will have married into both Dorne and the Iron Throne. Lys will rule Westeros in all but name and in less than two decades, the dragons will die. Morning, Sheepstealer, Cannibal, Silverwing, and several more that hatched later on. The younger dragons born grow ever smaller, becoming stunted and twisted. As Aegon is known as the conqueror, our brother will be known as The Dragonbane and House Targaryen will never be the same again.”
Baela was stunned once more, but the shock morphed into determination, burning away all the fear that had crippled her spirit.
“Then I shall claim Silverwing,” she declared.
She was the largest dragon remaining at the moment and Baela would have her. Aye, The Cannibal was closer, only a three-day sail away on Dragonstone, but he was a wild dragon who had feasted on any would-be riders for nearly a century, and Baela would not tempt the gods. Silverwing would be her mount, Baela decided with conviction then; she would find her on the other side of the continent (the most recent reports indicated that she roosted at Red Lake), and bind herself to the dragon. Her house, her father's house, had suffered enough from the grasping ambition of the lords of Westeros; she would not let it be preyed upon by outsiders as well.
Rhaena smiled, before replying, “I’ll speak to Lord Stark and arrange for a host of five hundred of his men to accompany us to Red Lake. We shall be ahorse, thus the journey should not take more than a moon’s turn. We shall depart at dawn the day after tomorrow, and the Good Queen’s dragon shall have a new rider.”
