THE DAY THE NEW DRAGON WAS BORN

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[attr="class","econtent"]"You will do no such thing," the inflexible words of Rhianu Targaryen came from behind the line of guards acting as onlookers to the deterioration of the Targaryen Prince. Her voice carried enough power to pierce through the storm plaguing Dragonstone, challenging any of the guards to voice refusal towards her will. "Leave us." The command rang throughout the surrounding area for the guards to disperse, offering the couple the privacy needed to breach the current predicament.
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Rain poured from the bleak sky above but the Red Sun was unbothered, her skin blazing with an eternal warmth as an ample amount of her body was revealed in her attire of Dornish silks. Her steps brought her closer to Rhaegar while both of their sets of guards retreated to the confinements of Dragonstone; their wary stares undoubtedly watching from the nearest window. A dismayed stare of crimson fixated upon the evidently despondent form of her husband, who had fled from her side the moment they had arrived at the keep to ruminate in the emotions the death of his father spurred. After tending to the twins and their arrangements within the castle, Rhianu set out to locate Rhaegar to offer him the solace he desperately needed.
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"My dragon-heart," the astoundingly tender words passed through the typically corrosive lips of his wife as she loomed behind him and the empty quiver on his back. No one else would dare to approach him in such a manner but the petite woman, who grasped at the bow to pull it gently from his grasp. "I doubt you have even realized that you've broken your skin open," Rhianu softly chided, bending down briefly to gingerly set the bow on the ground. After straightening her form, a few more steps brought the Dornish woman to stand directly before Rhaegar as she obstructed his view of the battered target.
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Only Rhaegar, Ryllan, and Rayna were capable of conjuring the compassionate gaze she adopted when her head tilted back to search for the stare of her beloved. Assured that her stare latched onto his, the woman's tiny hands took hold of Rhaegar's hands to bring them up to her face. Streams of liquid the shade of her eyes trailed down his fingers, the aftermath of his ignorance towards his hands' plea to offer them mercy. Each bloodied digit was pressed against her lips, leaving her mouth marked with the lifeblood that coursed through his body. "Your woes are my woes, but you know this very well. If you are troubled, I beg you to unburden yourself by sharing your desolation with me," Rhianu pled from behind his hand, continuing to place adoring kisses on every inch of the appendage.

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[attr="class","econtent"]She alone would not be able to mend the severe gashes that marred the heart of her dragon-heart. No matter how desperately the woman wished she could pour her adoration into the wounds to sew them shut. Jaehaerys was the man who had granted him life, crafted him into the broken man who stood before her. His time to depart the world had come, deaf to the pleading cries of his kin who yearned for one more day with their father. No, Rhianu did not possess the capability to remedy the crippling pain with her warming rays of light.

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All she could offer to Rhaegar was an endless amount of consolation and unyielding endearment.

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"A good king is still human, Rhaegar. Even if he tends to overlook such a simple fact," Rhianu faintly remarked, the words soft but the meaning meant to weigh heavily on his already weary heart. As his ally, confidant, and lover the Red Sun always aimed to set her husband back on his intended path if he were led astray. The reason did not matter; she was meant to act a beacon of guidance whenever necessary. "Humans are privy to weakness, especially in times of mourning. Your people should understand this the most," the raven haired woman whispered into his chest, searing hands pressed to his chest to remind him of her constant presence.

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Assured that her beloved comprehended her steadfastness, the petite woman delicately disengaged herself from his trembling grasp. If their situation was not overcast with despair, Rhaegar would have undoubtedly chastised Rhianu for leaving her feet bare and unprotected. It was a habit the woman had never been able to shed from her days spent in Dorne. Her deliberate stride guided her towards the target Rhaegar frustratedly fired at, where she bent down to pull one of the splintered arrows out with a firm grasp. A purposeful gaze observed the arrow, turning it over in her grasp to examine the damage it had suffered. "These arrows are crafted from wood, which easily splinters and is shattered. You are not like this arrow, my dragon-heart. You're dragonborn and fire courses through your veins. Nothing, not even this tragedy, will cause you to shatter." Tearing her gaze from the arrow, her impassioned stare was intended to bore into her husband.

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[attr="class","econtent"] Before she had arrived in King’s Landings as a Targaryen, no longer a Martell, her concerns never aligned with the political interests between the houses and the entirety of the realm. Knowledge and participation in the game of politics was inevitable, especially if the Red Sun yearned to see her husband thrive in his esteemed position of nobility. Her motives were driven into levels of overwhelming aspiration as of late, given the passing of King Jaehaerys and the unoccupied Iron Throne. The title of queen did not interest her; it would only be viewed as a secondary victory when Rhaegar assumed his rightful position as Protector of the Realm.

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Rhaegar was the Targaryen child most deserving of the claim to the throne. Rhianu would have backed the notion even if he hadn’t taken her hand in marriage twelve years prior. His benevolence, commitment to his men, and aptitude for leadership continually reaffirmed his wife’s beliefs. But this display of humility and adoration managed to stun the Dornish woman, causing jaw to go slack as he bowed before to gaze at her barren feet. She bent at her waist, bowing forward to touch her forehead to top of Rhaegar’s head tenderly. ”It’s quite the opposite, my beloved. Our children and I would be at loss if we didn’t have you in our lives. I am blessed to bask in the flames of your dragonfire, King Rhaegar.” Her words were firm and resolute, conveying to him that the sincerity rain into the core of her being.

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Her ruby stare watched attentively, the corner of her lips turning up into a pleased smile as he marred her skin with scarlet blemishes of passion. Pulling his hand up to her mouth, she returned the favor with a gentle bite placed on the top of his tanned hand. ”It seems as though I will have to change into something with sweeping sleeves when we return to our bedchambers,” she mused softly before gently tugging on Rhaegar’s hand to bring him to stand before her. His was injured by the removal of his father’s life force from the world but for the moment his troubles appeared to be quelled. “Where would you like to seek protection from the rain, Your Grace?” she teased him with the honorific, looking to him expectantly while waiting for an answer.

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[attr="class","econtent"] She was unable to protest his decision to collect her in his arms, her tiny form nestled against his chest as they retreated from the courtyard. Towering a foot over the Dornish born, her fragile form was no match against the unwavering form of her beloved. A nostalgic smile fell over her lips, causing her to tilt her head to allow Rhaegar to take in the sight of her expression. “I’m reminded of all the times I demanded you carry me like a man carries his betrothed when we were much younger. When our heads belonged to the clouds and our minds soared with the birds,” she commented, her tone fond as she took the occasion to nuzzle against him affectionately.

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The guards remained barricaded from their intimacy with a set of doors firmly shut before them. A holler was all Rhianu needed to rely on to cause the soldiers to burst through the wooden structure that offered them a semblance of privacy. Set atop the sheets of their bed, her attention drew itself to Rhaegar to be met with a set of needy lips. Her own lips pressed hungrily against those of the dragonborn, letting out a content sigh as she fell onto her back to break their drawn-out kiss. To fully enjoy his touch, the Targaryen woman tilted her head towards his hand before shooting him a concerned stare. “You’re soaked to your very core, Rhaegar. Please, I urge to change into something considerably drier.”Nurturing until her last breath, not even the heated caress of their lips could keep the woman from fretting over her husband.

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Rhianu’s glance transformed into a deeply set frown at the notice of his head hanging in overt humiliation. In an instance, her form was erect to allow her to reach out and tug onto the hem of his shirt sleeve to gain his attention. One more gentle pull brought him closer to her, enabling the Red Sun to purse her lips to touch them endearingly against his forehead. “Enough of this wallowing, my dragon-heart. Tell me how I can brighten your mood, please. I am desperate to see a smile find its way onto your face.”

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[attr="class","econtent"] Mother of dragons was a pet title that brought forth an elated smile onto the lips of the Dornish native. Fire did not twine with her blood; scales were never meant to overtake her skin. She was a sand snake, even if the name she now carried boasted of an identity overshadowed by dragons. There were only three scaled beasts in her life: the mourning man before her and the identical offspring they had created. His term of endearment never failed to remind her of the bountiful spoils their unity had brought upon her.

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“It relieves me to hear this, since my company is all I could hope to offer you.”

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Swathed in the scarlet linens, her own fingers worked to unfasten the silks that clung to her body. More than once talk of how her dress was likened to that of a whore eager to please reached her ears. Her usual garb was representative of typical noble attire in the furthest point of the house; the sneering ladies of King’s Landing never seemed to bother themselves with a proper lesson on the varying cultures of the realm. Silks lost among the overabundance of bedding, her exposed form complemented Rhaegar’s once his attention was turned upon his wife once more. A stare of ruby unabashedly surveyed the form of her husband, despite her fingers having run over every inch of his frame.

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He moved swiftly, having dried himself off with a woolen pelt before securing her petite form in an excess of crimson covers. Flesh pressed to flesh, an overwhelming sense of warmth and comfort washed over the pair while they fit their bodies together. Her arm draped over his marred chest since her head rested contently on his shoulder, basking in the sensation that his closeness brought. Rhianu held back a sigh, the weight of his words shattering the delicately serenity they had formed. “Daeron doesn’t have the entire realm rallying behind him because of his unyielding dedication and bravery proven countless times. You’re the Targaryen favored by the people. But I am well aware acquiring the title of king does not come so easily.” Her words did not carry the knowledge weight of a maester, knight, or any soul versed in the art of warfare. But she would never abandon her journey to aid her husband, even if if it were only with the feeble words she cold offer.

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[attr="class","econtent"] He was troubled. And rightly so.

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Dividing seven kingdoms between three heirs would never occur neatly. Add in the preexisting relations between the seven houses and their reputations of each heir and war was the only outcome that came to Rhianu’s mind. The days ahead of them would be filled with wars waged against fellow dragons, wolves, lions, and any other who chose to oppose the reign of King Rhaegar. The Dornish woman would stand resolutely by her husband’s side, refusing to leave her post even if death were to look her directly in the eye. He was a cause worth dying for and this was the opportune time to convey her unyielding loyalty.

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These concerns couldn’t be soothed, not even with her beloved’s head resting upon her chest. Still, desire began to build within but she resolved to tenderly stroke at his soaked locks of silver instead of pursuing any lustful actions. He seemed to fall into a contented lull, despite the weight of the conversation the couple seemed to be on the verge of breaching. No matter how desperately she wished to indulge in the company of her lover, there were pressing matters that could not be overlooked.
“Will the knights of Dragonstone follow you if we need to flee the island?” she delicately inquired, her mind roving over the countless ways he could be thwarted by an enemy.

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The matters at hand were momentarily swept aside as Rhaegar’s hand found their way onto her body. She immediately shivered at the touch, letting a soft sight of satisfaction pass through her lips. Rhianu responded by reaching up, her hands placed firmly on either side of torso to keep him close to her.
“We need allies, as many as we can possible bring to our side. The road ahead is going to be plagued with hardships and we cannot fall victim to them. You are the rightful king after all, my dragon-heart,” she purred out the warning to her husband. Her omens were ceased as his met her neck, causing her nails to sink into his flesh as a response. He then lowered himself onto her, allowing her slender arms to wrap around his frame after she swiftly nipped at his jawline.
“Are we discussing war tactics or christening this night with a third dragonborn?” Rhianu mewled teasingly into Rhaegar’s ear.

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[attr="class","econtent"] “I would expect no less from them, Rhaegar. It’s still only half the fleet, which can easily be destroyed by someone who considers themselves our enemy.” Her words were not meant to stir up concern within her dragon’s breast, but serve as a point of realism for him and the potential hardships they could face.

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As he laid his head atop her breasts, her nimble fingers stroked through the silver locks that defined him as a Targaryen descendent. He knew that he wouldn’t be facing the tribulations ahead alone, not as long as his wife still possessed the ability to breathe air into her lungs. His battle to the throne would be experienced with her placed directly at his side, prepared to fend off whatever foe challenged his claim as the true king. She found herself arcing her back towards Rhaegar, a notable sigh pulled from her lips as her body tingled with pleasure at each press of his lips upon her flesh.

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“How desperately I wish that you would only need to rely upon my loyalty and love. But that will not assure you the Iron Throne, Rhaegar. No matter how endlessly I pray to the gods. Please, I am assured you will happen across those who are prepared to kneel before you.”

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Once more, all earnest remarks slipped her mind as she was left to solely focus on his lips ravishing the entirety of her body. Hands slipped down to slither around his neck, pressing his form closely to hers to experience the sensation of his flesh against her own. She found herself craning her head to his neck, moving down the length of the elegant curve to mar his skin with tender kisses and tantalizing nips. It wouldn’t be long until the two dissolved into an entanglement of lust, which did not seem like too bad of a fate to the Targaryen woman. “I believe we should attempt to discover the answer to such a question,” she murmured against the crook of his neck, finally lifting her head to mesh her lips ravenously against his own.