The Prince and His Flower

F I F T Y - S E V E N

Aemma was screaming, struggling to get out of her restraints as two men grabbed the children.

"Son for a son, daughter for a daughter." The man sneered. "Pick."

Jaehaerys, dead on the floor.

Jaehaera and Jaehaerys dead.

Maelor.

All three.

Everyone.

Just Aemma.

Just Helaena.

The images change, all a different outcome, but one thing is the same: death.

Aemma bolted upright, a cold sweat on her forehead as she gasped for air. Aemond bolted upright as well, his hand covering his eye.

"I'm sorry," He reached behind him and fumbled for his eyepatch, fearing Aemma was disgusted by it. "Are you alright?"

Aemma said nothing, simply dressing herself and perching by the window, her dull eyes watching the ships passing by. The number of ships grew smaller each day, meaning Corlys and Rhaenys must have already begun to seal off the Gullet. They would come for her, soon enough.

Aemond watched Aemma sit on the windowsill watching the ships and wondered what she was thinking. The Velaryon Fleet had already begun to seal the gullet, and soon enough all waterborne trade will be cut off. He wondered what Aemma knew of their plans, but he would not push her to tell him. She was loyal to her family, as he was to his.

"Do you wish to go to the pier and watch them?" Aemond asked, breaking the silence. "Perhaps you will enjoy the fresh air."

"I enjoy nothing," Aemma said, but stood nonetheless and smoothed out invisible wrinkles in her dress. 

"But you want to go?" Aemond asked, propping himself up on his elbows. Aemma nodded, her lips pulled into a small frown, as always. 

It was a hot day, but there was a small breeze being carried by the water. Aemma sat on the very end of the pier, her feet dangling over the Bay. Aemond sat on the bench, watching her as she tilted her face toward the sun, brightening her face. Aemond could see the dark purple circles under her eyes, and the way her cheeks were gaunt from the lack of food and water. 

"What are you thinking about?" Aemond asked. Aemma lowered her face and turned back to the water.

"Luke." She replied flatly. 

"Did he... enjoy the water?" Aemond shifted uncomfortably, tugging at his collar as it stuck to his sweaty skin. 

"Hated it." Aemma chuckled, for the first time in what felt like ages. The sound was like a melody to Aemond's ears. "Despised would be more fitting." She remembered how often he got seasick on the ships, and she resisted the urge to laugh to herself. Luke would have smacked her arm for that. But Luke was dead, and Aemma's stoic demeanor returned.

"You enjoy it?" Aemond asked, determined to keep Aemma talking. He had briefly seen a glimpse of the true Aemma, and he would cut off his hand if it meant he could see it again.

"I do." Aemma watched as a ship slowly approached the harbor; a trading ship, she presumed. "I was always more comfortable on them, and my grandsire loved to teach me the ways of sailing." Aemma thought of Driftmark and wondered if they would name her the heir, or Joffrey. She hoped they would skip over her, for the thought of inheriting what should have been Luke's felt like a sword through the chest.

"Do you think they will make you Lady of the Tides?" Aemond asked, standing and taking the smallest of steps toward Aemma. 

"Are you going to rush this information to your war council?" Aemma's head whipped to look at Aemond, who frowned.