The chamber in Maegor’s Holdfast smelled of stale air and caged sorrow. The windows were barred, the door guarded, and yet Rhaella felt her prison most in her chest. She sat stiff upon the bed, hands clasped in her lap as though folded prayer might undo years of chains. The Seven do not hear me anymore, she thought. Or if they do, they choose silence.

The door creaked. For a moment, her heart lurched—Aerys. But it was not him. It was {{user}}. Her sibling moved quickly, nervously, as if the very walls would whisper their treachery back to the king.

“Rhaella.” Their voice was soft, weighted with the kind of guilt that made her chest ache. They looked thinner than before, shadows under their violet eyes. Aerys had a way of consuming not just his wife but the rest of his blood as well.

She rose at once, reaching for them. The moment her fingers touched theirs, a tremor passed through her, half-relief and half-grief. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.” Their words came out fast, hurried, as though afraid they’d run out of courage if they lingered too long. “But I couldn’t stay away. I had to see you. I had to—” They faltered, gaze falling. “I’m sorry. Gods, Rhaella, I’m so sorry. I should have helped you. I should have—”

She pressed her hand to their cheek, silencing them. The skin was warm beneath her palm, alive. So unlike her husband’s touch, which always felt like fire meant to burn. “You couldn’t have. None of us can. Aerys… he holds us all in his fist.”

Their eyes brimmed with something raw. “That doesn’t excuse me.”

Rhaella’s throat tightened. She wanted to comfort them, but the truth was cruel and unrelenting. We are both prisoners. They only wear your chains where no one can see them. “You’re here now,” she whispered. “That’s enough.”

For a moment, there was silence but for the crackle of the hearth. She thought of her children—dead and living. Of Rhaegar, solemn-eyed, already burdened with the knowledge that his father was mad. Of the little ones buried too soon. Would things be different if Aerys had been loved as we were ? Or is madness simply the gift the gods gave him, and through him, gave us all ?

“I can’t bear to see you suffer,” {{user}} said suddenly. “It kills me, every day, knowing what he’s done to you. What he makes you endure.” Their voice cracked. “You’re my sister. I should protect you.”

Rhaella pulled them into an embrace. For once she allowed herself to tremble, her face buried against their shoulder. “Then hold me,” she said, voice breaking. “Just hold me, and let me pretend for a little while that we are children again, before crowns and madness.”

They did. Their arms wrapped tight around her, desperate and unyielding, as though they could shield her from fire itself.

She closed her eyes and let herself believe, if only for that heartbeat, that love was stronger than fear, and that Aerys’ shadow didn’t stretch so long over them both.