ARC 1: Birth of the Daemon and Daenerys
Chapter 14: The Queen's Passing
The weight of sorrow, coupled with the physical toll of the difficult birthing and the oppressive atmosphere on Dragonstone under Stannis Baratheon's watchful gaze, began to take a visible toll on Queen Rhaella. Her once vibrant violet eyes grew shadowed with a perpetual weariness, and her slender frame seemed to shrink further with each passing week. The joy that her newborn twins had initially brought was now often overshadowed by a profound melancholy, a deep-seated grief for her lost family and the shattered remnants of her house.
Maester Gerardys attended to her with diligent care, his aged hands offering what little comfort he could. He prescribed tonics and urged her to rest, but the Queen's spirit seemed to be slowly ebbing away, as if the will to live had been extinguished by the relentless tide of tragedy. She would often sit by the windows of her chambers, gazing out at the turbulent Grey Cliffs, her thoughts lost in the memories of happier times, of Rhaegar's gentle smile and the vibrant life of the Red Keep before the whispers of rebellion had turned into a bloody reality.
Ser Willem Darry remained her steadfast protector, his presence a constant source of quiet strength. He ensured her chambers were secure, her needs were met, and that Stannis's increasingly frequent inquiries about the twins were met with firm but polite deflections. He understood the precariousness of their situation. Rhaella's health was failing, and the twins, barely half a year old, were utterly vulnerable.
The infants themselves, though developing at their own distinct paces, remained a source of both comfort and concern for the dwindling household staff loyal to the Targaryens. Daenerys grew into a bright and increasingly active babe, her silver-gold hair a striking contrast to her deep violet eyes. Her laughter was a precious melody in the otherwise somber atmosphere of Dragonstone. Daemon, however, remained largely silent and observant, his unnerving stillness and occasional intense gaze continuing to fuel hushed whispers among the servants.
As the seasons began to turn, bringing with them the chill winds of autumn, Rhaella's health declined more rapidly. Her strength waned, and she spent more and more time confined to her bedchamber. Maester Gerardys's worried pronouncements grew more frequent, and even the stoic Ser Willem began to show visible signs of concern.
One particularly blustery evening, as the storm winds howled outside, mirroring the turmoil within the keep, Rhaella asked for her twins to be brought to her. Daenerys, ever curious, gurgled happily as Ser Willem placed her gently beside her mother. Daemon, held carefully by a nursemaid, remained still, his large violet eyes fixed on his mother's pale face with an unnerving intensity.
Rhaella's frail hand reached out, her fingers tracing the delicate strands of Daenerys's silver hair. A weak smile touched her lips. "My little princess," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. Then, her gaze shifted to Daemon, her expression softening with a profound tenderness. "And my quiet prince."
She held them both close, a fierce protectiveness flickering in her fading eyes. "You must be strong," she whispered, her voice growing weaker. "You are the last… the last of the dragon's blood. Never forget who you are."
As the night deepened, Rhaella's breathing grew shallow and ragged. Maester Gerardys remained at her bedside, his face etched with a sorrowful resignation. Ser Willem stood vigil near the door, his hand resting on his sword hilt, a silent promise to protect the last of the Targaryens.
In the early hours of the morning, as the first pale light of dawn touched the horizon, Queen Rhaella Targaryen breathed her last. Her passing was peaceful, her frail hand still resting gently on Daenerys's tiny head. A profound silence descended over the Queen's chambers, broken only by Daenerys's soft, innocent snores. Daemon, who had remained awake throughout the night, simply continued to gaze at his mother's still form with an unreadable expression in his violet eyes.
The news of the Queen's death spread quickly through Dragonstone, casting a pall of grief over the loyalist household. Even Stannis Baratheon, informed of her passing by a somber Ser Gawen, offered a curt, almost perfunctory acknowledgment. For him, Rhaella's death likely represented the removal of one more potential complication in securing Robert's reign.
But for Ser Willem Darry and the remaining Targaryen loyalists, Rhaella's passing was a devastating blow. She had been the last link to the fallen dynasty, a symbol of their lost queen. Now, only the infant twins remained, their future uncertain and their vulnerability stark.
As the preparations for the Queen's burial began, Ser Willem's resolve hardened. His duty had become even clearer. He was now the sole protector of the last dragonspawn, two innocent babes in a world that had turned hostile to their bloodline. He looked at the sleeping twins, Daenerys's peaceful face and Daemon's quiet, watchful presence, and a fierce determination took root in his heart. He would not fail them. He would ensure their survival, no matter the cost. The Queen's passing had left a void, but it had also forged a new, unbreakable bond of protectiveness in the heart of the loyal knight. The whispers of the dragon's fall had fallen silent for Rhaella, but for her children, the fight for their future had just begun.