❝With one eye a Targaryen violet and the other silver as the moon, she watched all and knew more. All of which she immortalised in bleeding black ink to be studied by the naive people of tomorrow.❞
Princess Rhaella, daughter of King Viserys I and Qu...
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AEMOND FELT UNSURE. A quality shared by Rhaella, the sister he was utterly ardent about, and himself no longer existed; for years, they were both without Dragons, which brought them nothing but trouble from the apathetic Aegon. It forged them together — why would they need a Dragon when had each other? However, now that Rhaella possessed an egg the future was unclear. The Prince, who continually derived his own joy from The Princess, held no malice toward her; he knew better than anyone of her desire to bond with a Dragon. The cause of his uncertainty and fear was the paranoia Rhaella would forget him entirely, leaving him alone in that way would be worse than her two years in Oldtown.
Hurriedly, Aemond hastened through the halls of the Red Keep, brushing aside any who thought to interrupt his vocation: to encounter Rhaella. As typical for the Prince, his morning was taken up by Ser Criston and his sword-fighting training — which vexed the boy as he, the day prior, attempted to barter the day off so it might be spent in Rhaella's company. Alas, Ser Criston, a Knight of pitch-dark hair and pale green eyes, refused such a proposition. The silver-haired Prince found himself outside of the sickly Princess bedchambers, where he came to a standstill. Composing himself and aligning his emerald tunic, he raised a stable fist to the door. Hinges shrieked as the door slowly opened to reveal a tall, brunette women who Aemond did not know. "Who are you? Why are you in The Princess' apartments?" Aemond accusingly demanded, craning his neck over the woman of sloped shoulders in the aspiration the silhouette would greet him. It did not; a desolate room lay behind the mysterious woman. Aemond's heart sank: had she left so soon?
"My Prince," the woman curtsied but kept her grey-green eyes focused confidently on the boy, "I am The Princess' handmaid, Mar—"
"I do not care what your name is, vapid woman," interrupted Aemond, who grew impatient and exasperated, in a drawn-out manner, "tell me plainly where Ella is?"
"His Grace requested Princess Rhaella join him for breakfast, she has yet to return," explained the servant unwavering despite the disgruntled Prince, who fled without a word, stalking down the halls puffing with each stride.
Aemond felt irked. Noon was nearer than daybreak, Rhaella was doubtfully still with the King, so where might she be? One place stuck out to the young boy. He moved swiftly to that area of the Red Keep. Winding along the spacious passageways until he happened upon a tapestry — rich, radiant colours detailed Queen Visenya Targaryen, sister-wife of Aegon the Conquerer, rider of Vhagar, and her crushing the uprising of the Three Sisters — suspended on the wall by a bar of steel. Establishing he was completely unescorted, Aemond pulled back the thick fabric to reveal a gloomy, concealed passage. During the escapades of Aemond and Rhaella, they discovered a labyrinth of unused passageways. Days turned into weeks as they plotted an elaborate map of them until it was complete and they were able to move about the castle in the walls and beneath the floors; it was as if they were spectres, they saw all but nought saw them. Shortly before she left for Oldtown to serve as House Hightower's ward, a passage new to them was stumbled across, one which ventured beyond the Keep and beneath the city. Time was limited then meaning they had restricted time to explore and chart it. Aemond held steadfast for two years: neither investigating nor etching the path in blotched ink.
