Work Text:
She held the parchment in between her fingers and read it again. It scarcely said anything, but for Rhaena it said more than enough.
I will take care of him.
The seal she had broken had been plain, just white wax to secure it through the raven's flight, though the handwritting was unmistakable to her.
Rhaena's heart knew, and grew heavy with dread.
It had been her fault.
All because of her weakness.
She had made the wrong choice on the day of Mother's funeral, thinking it better to wait. Vhagar would be mourning her rider's death as much as Rhaena herself was doing.
It wasn't the right time, how could it be?
Rhaena had been a child, not even sure that she was brave enough as to try to claim Mother's mount, let alone think she should do so immediately.
And how deeply she had regretted not having done it.
Lucerys, nearly her little brother, the boy meant to be her husband. He had died a cruel death, hardly starting to grow himself into a man, because of her decision.
How much she had loved that boy.
Dear Grandmother. Princess Rhaenys had met her end most valiantly, a true dragonrider death, they all told Rhaena. A sacrifice for the sake of their Queen.
She would be alive if it wasn't for her.
All this pain and destruction, all this death, because of a foolish hesitation.
And now, this.
Now, Father.
Rhaena wondered when he had written that lonely line for her, when he had sent it. A day and a half at the shortest, she kept telling herself.
She had no way of knowing if anything had happened, already, if at all.
Yet there were other things she did happen to know, and how they hurt.
Father wasn't fond of sending word to her, to Rhaena of all people.
I will take care of him.
She hoped with all her might that he did.
The words stared back at her from the paper. They almost felt like a farewell.
Another one.