Chapter Text
Rhaena raised a slight eyebrow at the Seven-Pointed Star. What an amusing and rare sight. The holy text had passed many hands, seen many lives. But she was of no doubt that this was the first time Rhaenyra had ever set eyes on it.
"Swear on it. Both of you."
The Queen held out the weary book to her eldest sons, the crown prince, Jacaerys, and her own betrothed Lucerys, heir to the Driftwood Throne.
Rhaena stole a look at the two. The wind was merciless that day and their brown hair was strewn about the place. Jacaerys schooled a barely concealed grimace. There was little difference on his brother's face.
Rhaena turned her sights to find her sister, Baela, who stood proudly next to her betrothed. She would have remained there to catch her gaze until Lucerys raised his hand.
The motion distracted her. In that instance where the man of twenty years moved hair from his eye, his hand shook. The smallest of trembles. If she were not so trained, a lesser eye would attribute it to the chill. Her heart ached at the sight and she reached for him.
His hand was cold and clammy when she met him. Rhaena wound hers tight around his. She hoped that he might take her strength and make it his own. Luke responded in kind, and clasped at her hand even stronger. Though he did not meet her gaze, his meek smile said enough.
"Swear it."
Rhaenyra's voice cut through the wind like steel. Rhaena could not help but straighten at the words. A true sovereign, is all she could think when she looked upon her stepmother. Rhaenyra wore a blood red gown, cut low to expose her shoulders. A black cape with silken lining, and stitching that resembled dancing dragons billowed behind her.
And atop that silver-white hair they shared stood the crown. The same one King Viserys I, her late uncle, had worn not even two moons ago. Rhaena felt her cheeks warm, eyes pricking with fresh tears. She looked away. This cliffside was away from her bedchambers, with her family and their many sworn men. Appearances were worth more than gold, now more than ever.
It was eventually Jacaerys who moved first, as expected of the first-born son. Rhaena noted the proud gleam in the Queen's eyes. It grew brighter still when Lucerys did the same. There was no tremble in his voice when he declared that he would raise no arms toward the Greens.
When he stood back in place next to her, Rhaenyra called out.
"Let those before us today see the mercy we have shown the usurpers! If they return my throne to me without issue, I will spare my half-brothers and sister. For there is nothing more accursed than kinslayers."
As if by demand, the wind swelled. Even Rhaena's coils could not stand firm against it. She breathed in and could smell prophecy.
She shivered.
Rhaena knew then what the Queen did not. That no mercy could be given. That no side could be spared. There was smoke and a metal twang of blood in the air. Worst of all, fire ran hot through their veins, and they had dragons to call their own.