Chapter Text
The sun hung low over King’s Landing, its usual golden hue muted beneath a shroud of heavy grey clouds. It was a fitting day for grief, Rhaella thought, as she sat in a pew further back in the Sept of Baelor. The funeral rites for Ser Lewyn Martell, knight of the Kingsguard and a man she had known for nearly forty years, were finally underway. The droning voice of the High Septon, so fat he needed a reinforced chair, filled the chamber, speaking more about himself and the gods than Lewyn
Lewyn… Gone.
It felt unreal.
Rhaella stared at the ivory and gold coffin draped in the gold sunspear sigil of House Martell on the white sheet. The spear seemed to shine despite the somber light of the Sept. Lewyn had died suddenly, an aneurysm, the maester said. One moment, the man was standing tall in his white cloak, the next, he was just gone.
Her hands, covered in elegant black gloves, tightened on the lap of her mourning dress. A faint sigh escaped her lips. Beside her, Daenerys shifted uncomfortably, glancing up at her with wide violet eyes.
“Are you well, my sweet?” Rhaella whispered, resting a gentle hand on Daenerys’s shoulder.
Daenerys nodded hesitantly. “Yes, Mother. But…” She trailed off, glancing toward the front rows where Elia Martell sat, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Rhaegar and Aegon were on either side of her, both wearing solemn expressions that seemed too old for their young faces.
“Elia…” Rhaella’s voice broke softly. She loved the woman as though she were her own daughter. Seeing her in such pain was like reopening old wounds that had never fully healed. Lewyn was her uncle, yes, but Loreza Martell, Elia’s mother and Rhaella’s sister in all but blood, had been the one to suggest his name for the Kingsguard. It had been Rhaella who had brought it to King Jaehaerys II, certain that Lewyn’s skill and honor would be a boon to the realm.
And had been right. For decades, Lewyn had served with distinction, a calming presence even in the storm of Aerys’s madness. But now he was gone, and his absence left a gaping hole that felt all the more acute because of Rhaella’s private fears.
“Mother,” Daenerys said quietly, breaking her thoughts. “Rhaenys was saying strange things again. About white shadows and…and red swords.”
Rhaella stiffened though quickly relaxed in resignation.
Of course she was. Rhaenys had been making cryptic remarks for days now, even before Lewyn’s death. The child was a dreamer, Rhaella had no doubt of that. Rhaegar’s denial of it infuriated her, though she could never tell if it was because he feared the implications for his precious prophecy or due to jealously.
She leaned closer to Daenerys, keeping her voice low. “What exactly did Rhaenys say?”
Daenerys frowned, her lips pursed in thought. “She said something about a shadow falling over us. That something would crack, and then everything would spill. I didn’t understand what she meant… I don’t think she did either”
Neither did Rhaella, but the words sent a shiver down her spine all the same. Lewyn’s death had shaken the royal family, and now there was the matter of his replacement. Seven knights sworn to protect the king, and now there were only six. The Kingsguard couldn’t remain incomplete for long. It never had, even in war time.
She glanced toward Rhaegar, seated near the front. Her son was motionless, his silver hair catching the faint light of the Sept. His back was straight, his expression impassive, but Rhaella knew him well enough to sense the tension radiating off him. He hadn’t looked at Elia once since the ceremony began, though he kept a hand on her thigh in a sign of support since they entered.
“Rhaenys loved her uncle,” Rhaella murmured to Daenerys. “And Elia and Aegon loved him, too. It’s why they look so grim, probably why Rhaenys’ dreams have been more extreme as of late. We must be kind to them in their grief.”
Daenerys nodded solemnly, her small hand slipping into Rhaella’s. “I will, Mother. I promise.”
Elia had suffered so much already, enduring the rebellion, the lingering resentment of the nobility, and the unspoken burden of Rhaegar’s ambitions. Yet she had endured it all with dignity. Seeing her like this made Rhaella’s heart ache.
Rhaenys leaned over her father and closer to her mother, whispering something in her ear. Elia nodded faintly but didn’t reply. Rhaenys’s dark eyes, so unlike the Targaryen purple, swept the Sept with an unsettling sharpness, as if she were searching for something no one else could see.
The High Septon’s voice rose, signaling the final prayers. Everyone in the Sept stood, their movements rustling like dry leaves.When the prayer ended, Aegon and Elia approached Rhaella and Daenerys.
“Grandmother,” Aegon said, his voice thick with emotion. “May we sit with you?”
“Of course, my sweet boy.” Rhaella opened her arms, drawing him into a brief embrace. She kissed the top of his head, then turned to Elia, who looked pale but composed now, bringing her into her embrace as well. “Elia, my dear.”
Elia nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you for being here, Rhaella. Lewyn admired you greatly.”
Rhaella’s throat tightened. “And I admired him. He was a good man. A good knight.”
Rhaella felt Daenerys lean into her side, and she wrapped an arm around her youngest child. Aegon sat on her other side, quiet and brooding. Still in the front pew, Rhaegar held Rhaenys’s hand tightly, her other hand pressed to her stomach as if trying to steady herself.
The clouds outside darkened, and the first drops of rain began to patter against the stained glass windows of the Sept. Rhaella closed her eyes briefly, whispering a silent prayer for strength, for herself, and for her family
The funeral was over, but the the shadows remained.