#lєттєяs of тнє qυєєи | self para

[munadaria]

Ella's relationship with Jaime

Ser Jaime. The youngest knight to ever serve the Kingsguard, and yet she knew, oh she knew for she was no fool, Aerys had done this out of spite. Out of his ever growing paranoia. However, it didn’t mean she thought he wasn’t fit for the position. On the contrary, he proved to be a skilful and loyal knight — one whose presence brought a slighter calmness over her whenever he was on duty watching over her. As much as it brought an odd sense of obligation on her part to ensure he would be safe; after all, he was the son of her old companion and friend Joanna.

Besides her children, and grandchildren, the only other true smiles she gave were to him — that is, not counting those she faked in court for in those even her eyes were dead — but for young Jaime she tried. And just as she watched him grow as a young man, she saw him grow as knight as Kingsguard. His commitment, his belief in the vows he took, not once she had doubts in him. There were occasions in which she considered the idea of embracing him as a way of thanks for his service, yet common sense reminded her to refrain and a smile would have to suffice.

Ella knew he had guarded her door times Aerys had taken his pleasure with her, she knew Jaime must’ve heard her cries, her please for help, for anyone to come and rescue her, to put an end to it. It wasn’t so much being escorted to her chambers by him, or seeing him waiting at his post, but the look on his face on the morrow. Out of all the Kingsguard, Jaime was the only one to ever seem afflicted by what transpired behind the thick doors of her chambers and to her that could only mean either guilt for letting it happen or the vows he took preventing him from doing anything, for he was sworn to protect her, yes, but not from the king who was above them all. Of course, she had no reason to know whether her belief was true or pure imagination on her part, but it brought her a glimmer of hope in the hell she was living in.

She remembered the last time she ever saw him, on the day she was evacuated form the capital to Dragonstone. Covered with a cloak to try and conceal the fresh bruises, cuts and scars all over her skin. She wished he could’ve come with her, both for selfish reasons to keep her and Viserys safe as much as keep him safe. By staying he could become a potential hostage for Aerys in his war, in his constant fights with Tywin — the one man who had yet to take a side in the war. Still, no words were exchanged but she prayed to the old gods and the new aboard the ship taking her to Dragonstone for her family, and for Jaime too.

At Dragonstone one heard more rumours than news. She was concerned for her gooddaughter and her grandchildren, kept at the capital by Aerys’ orders. Oh she wished they had travelled with her too, but the king had thought otherwise. And when news broke of what had taken place at the Red Keep it broke her. Sweet Elia and her children brutally murdered, those innocent children who had long lives before them. All stripped and robbed from them. Her sorrowful tears were for them, for she had none for Aerys. No. For her brother and husband she felt nothing. All their deaths made her one of the last handful of their line left, along with Viserys and the child she had recently discovered to be carrying in her womb. The three of them would be free of the tyranny of Aerys. Her hell was over. No more waking nightmares. No more abuse. Only freedom awaited, once the war ended.

She needn’t ask for the reason Aerys died, for it was travelling from mouth to mouth. The Kingslayer had taken his life. A traitor who had soiled the white cloak of the Kingsguard with his crime. Every vow broken by a single act.

Ella didn’t agree with them. A knight was meant to protect the weak and defend the innocent. Women and children. And he not done so, by taking out the greatest evil and threat of their time? In her eyes, there was no reason to call him as others did. No, for the rest of her days that was a name with which she’d never speak of him regardless of his alliances. For her he’d always be the loyal knight who watched over her.

Ser Jaime.

Her saviour.

Her white knight.

[munadaria]

daenerys birth ??

Send me a scene that happened in canon and I’ll write in detail how my muse felt in it!

There were murmurs the storm that roared above Dragonstone was the worst anyone alive present at the ancient keep could remember. Servants scurrying away, afraid of the thunder and lightning trying to find cover lest the walls fell apart and down on them. But not for her. What did she have to fear of a storm? What harm could it bring to her, when she had survived all the horrors a woman, a sister, a wife could endure? Her only concerned was the child in her belly, the one conceived the last night the worst man she had known took his pleasure against her will. She’d protect the babe, never to know it was the result of that coupling.

It seemed the babe was fond of storms for as another bolt of lightning struck the keep, Ella knew the time had come for her to crawl to her birthing bed. The pain had increased tenfold, a hand holding onto her lower abdomen; the other to lean against the walls to reach the bed as she called for the maester.

As she waited, taking deep breaths in an attempt to control the pain that coursed through her from her scalp to her toes, she thought bringing the child into the world wouldn’t take long. Ever since Rhaegar, her first born, the process had become quicker and quicker over the year. And while his birth was surrounded by fire and death, the babe soon to be born would be surrounded by water. She let out a mixture of a cry and a laugh as the concept of coming full circle wasn’t lost to her.

Once the maester came into her chambers everything seemed to become a blur. Orders being given to her on how to position herself — as if she had no previous experience! — or when to push to bring forth the babe into the world. Each breath, each push felt further and further as if her body was being ripped in two and then onto itself a million times. It felt wrong. No other time had felt this way before. Was it because she had become too old for childbearing? And yet she remembered, Good Queen Alysanne had had her last child older than Ella was at that very moment; if the good queen did it, then so could she. She would survive and raise her two remaining children, act as regent for little Viserys and ensure her children wouldn’t wed one another. She wouldn’t let the same fate befall her children.

One final push, and the cries of the babe filled the room. Ella let herself fall back against the mattress. Sweat covered her skin, the blood still coming from between her legs for bringing a child into the world remained a gruesome and ugly business. As she caught her breath, willing the pain and fatigue to go away, it was announced the child was a girl. A faint smile touched her lips, a moment later asking to hold her daughter in her arms. The infant was placed in her arms, wrapped in blankets, and while exhausted she also felt joy. A healthy, living child. She had done her duty.

A few minutes passed as she watched over her little girl, deciding on a suitable name for her. “Daenerys.” She named her, her head lifting slightly to look at the maester so there would be record of the name. She was about to pronounce her name once more just as thunder made its presence known once more, giving her an idea. “Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen.” Yes, the perfect name. All would known and remember her daughter, in time.

As the maester wrote down the name of a piece of parchment, one of the maids approached her to clean up the babe to which she agreed. She’d take the opportunity to rest for a spell, eyes feeling heavier by the minute. She deserved the chance to sleep and recover, regain her strength.

It was calling for her, only for a few minutes and she’d awaken to be with her children.

[munadaria]

Fire. Smoke. Ash. Tears. Screams. The smell of burning flesh, wood and land. The flames licking every nook of Summerhall, growing wilder and stronger only as minutes pass. The sky taking a shade of black, orange, yellow and red; many of those gathered at the palace surely die, and those that survive the horror will never speak of it. The smoke and ashes carried by the wind make her gasp for air, her eyes become dry and irritated. Even the heat emanating from the palace is too much from the safe distance she finds herself in to deliver her first child. There’s too much pain, in her body and mind; how is she meant to enjoy the birth of her child, find that delight in holding the babe in her arms for the first time, when she must also mourn for the loss of life? The prince that was promised is meant to be born from her and Aerys’ line. Is her child meant to be that prince? For the babe is a boy, born amidst salt and smoke. Yet also like her grandfather intended, a dragon was born. One of flesh and blood, an heir to the throne…

The setting changes, finding herself in the royal gardens of King’s Landing within the Red Keep. She sees her grandchildren, all as if they are of the same age. Children of no more than five or six years old. Aegon playing with his wooden sword, just as she sits down with Rhaenys to help her only granddaughter make a lovely flower crown. Laughter fills the air, as do calls from the boy to gain her attention to watch him. Her heart swells with pride and love, her dragonlings bringing her a kind of happiness she had only felt before with her own children. But this, oh this is so much sweeter for there are no watchful eyes of a madman and freedom is hers. Her own laughter leaves her lips as Rhaenys places their finished flower crown atop her head, and in turn she tickles her and laughs with the sweet child. Ah if only happiness were long lasting and not a fleeting emotion…

She blinks, her surroundings changing for a third time. The chilling cold is what she notices first, her own arms wrap about her waist and takes notice of the thick layers of black and red clothing, clad in Targaryen colours, covering her frame. Even black gloves cover her delicate hands, the only skin remaining uncovered are her features and neck. As she walks along the beach’s shoreline snowflakes begin to fall, some catching on her hair and slowly melting away. Such an innocent gesture brings a smile to her lips, for a split second forgetting about the cold seeping into her bones. She hears her own name being called out from above, she can’t tell the figure calling out to her nor the voice yet nonetheless she leaves the beach and takes the path leading her to the keep. As she exhales she can see her own breath, as a she hears a sound akin to a roaring storm above her. For a moment, it makes her think of the storm during which her Daenerys was born. Her eyes flutter close as she takes another deep breath and...

Violet eyes opened wide, lips parted gasping for air and tears streaming down her cheekbones. It took a moment for Rhaella’s vision to adjust to her quarters in the Red Keep. A shaky hand reached up to wipe away her tears as she also took notice of the thin layer of cold sweat her skin was covered in. Peeling off the bedding from her person she stood up and padded silently towards the small table located in her chambers; she filled a goblet with water and took a series of short sips, even as her hand continued to shake. “It was only a dream.” She told herself, setting the goblet down. But it wasn’t just a simple dream, the scenes were a mixture of her own memories and something that might yet come to pass.

The first scene she remembered vividly in either a waking or sleeping moment - the tragedy of Summerhall. Over four decades later it still haunted her, and considered it a miracle she survived it along with Rhaegar; her eldest son, a babe and his life was surrounded by tragedy from the moment he came into the world.  It would be both laughable and shameful if anyone were to know of the last dragon queen’s own fear to fire. Terrified of one of the very elements and words for which her own house was known for. Simply put it was something she never spoke of and avoided to be in the presence of fire in every chance she had; and when she could not, she did her best to hide how uncomfortable she felt. Candles had become bearable over the years, as had fires lit within hearths to provide with warmth; the latter she had learned to tolerate, within safe distance, due to the crackling sound of the flames licking wood. It worked wonders for her nerves.

It didn’t help Aerys’ own obsession with fire as his champion and burning all those that opposed or were against him, or rather perceived who were against him. A fate she knew could’ve been her own if her brother and husband had discovered her support for their eldest son and heir to remove him from the throne. Up until that point Rhaella had remained faithful to her King out of fear. She was powerless and trapped in an unhappy marriage, with no one who would ever protect her, not even the Kingsguard though sworn to keep her safe and from any and all harms too - yet not from the King. There was no one she could turn to for aid and escape, she would promptly be returned and with her husband’s state of mind, she knew if she ever attempted to flee her fate would’ve been decided the moment Aerys heard of her escape. Without Rhaegar’s promise for a better future to them all, and with a plan to smuggle her to Dragonstone, she wouldn’t have dared oppose her brother.

She never felt an ounce of love for Aerys, romantic or platonic, his descend into madness only made it worse. But he loved fire, and each time he had someone killed by his pyromancers she knew what would come that night. A different kind of nightmare, again fueled by flames. It was as if she could never escape them. They had never touched her skin, never marred and marked her physically. But they touched and altered her psyche. 

Aerys, on the other hand, had left his mark on her time and time again. Even though it’s been years since he last abused her, Rhaella could still remember the bruises he left on her skin. Her hand, shaking still, reached up to touch the high point of her right cheekbone where he had left a scar that had mostly faded. And right beneath her fingertips she felt the thin scar, half an inch long. She had been lucky Aerys hadn’t managed to damage her eye with his nails long as talons, or blind her altogether. Her fingers travelled down her features to her lips, remembering the way the lower one was swollen and split, or the coppery taste in her mouth caused by her own blood. Her eyelids fluttered close, her hand fully covered her mouth to try and muffle her own sounds as she started crying anew. Her shoulders shook as she hunched over, her free arm wrapping about her stomach as she shuffled back to her bed before her legs had a chance of giving out on her.

Alone in the dark she was left with the memories of her tragic and unhappy life, at times replaying themselves on a loop over and over again especially when she closed her eyes. It was a miracle she had kept most of her sanity intact, for she clung to the happy memories like a lifeline. They were what kept her afloat, the lights of her life that she hoped and prayed to the Gods would never diminish and extinguish for she feared she would fall into a place of no return. Not the madness that plagued her family, one she kept her eyes on at all times on her children and grandchildren, but something darker. A confinement within her mind with no way out.

Minutes passed, her body slightly rocking back and forth as a means to bring herself a sense of comfort. Her sobs subsided as she started to cry quietly, eyelids closed, inhaling and exhaling through her mouth. She didn’t bother to try and dry nor wipe her tears this time, her energy was spent in recalling good and happy memories to pull herself together: Daenerys’ birth as the third and final good thing that Aerys ever gave her and being able to raise her daughter, her grandchildren providing her with reasons to fully smile and laugh, Ser Bonifer crowning her the Queen of Love and Beauty, Aerys’ death although not a happy occurrence by any means it brought a positive change into her life in which she no longer lived in fear of losing her life day after day and regained a semblance of freedom and peace.

With her mind quieter and peaceful of dark thoughts she recalled the second scene of her dream which brought a faint smile to her lips as she thought on it, the innocence of playing in the gardens with her grandchildren when they were younger. One of the few sources of happiness in her life, a balm to her wounded spirit that slowly filled her with life anew. The third and final scene both concerned and confused her in equal measure. Rhaella recognised she was in Dragonstone, wearing layers upon layers of thick clothing; snowflakes on her silver hair and the wind caressing her skin as she walked along the shore shortly before retreating into the ancestral keep.

The first rays of light entered her chambers through the windows, announcing it was dawning. If she wanted to write anything down she ought to be quick before her ladies appeared, for she had instructed them the previous eve she wanted to wake early on the next day and be ready for her. With quick steps she walked across the room to the secret spot in which she kept a journal for her dreams, and returned to the desk. The inkpot and quill were at the ready, within mere seconds scribbling away on the parchment describing as best as she remembered the final scene of her dream all while being careful to avoid staining her fingertips with the black ink. Once she finished writing, she gently blew a bit of sand to allow the ink to dry faster. As she waited, she returned to the windows to observe the sunrise. A peaceful, beautiful sight she rarely indulged herself in yet nowadays Rhaella tried to find joy in the smallest things and for that alone she would have this moment, undisturbed.

[munadaria]

Tag dump 1.