Burn me • Aemond Targaryen

A message for a Raven

Chapter Fifty-Four~ A message for a raven

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A raven was an omen of death, it symbolized the ill will that was coming into one's life. They traveled in an unkindness, a conspiracy and a treachery. Many said they were cut from the cloak of the stranger, envois to carry out warnings between man. Others thought them to be part of something bigger, that they carried messages between a greater power, beyond the understanding of the idle minds of man.

It was this first thing she saw when her eyes closed. The rough black feathers accompanied by a dark beak and eyes void of colour. Black was said to be the colour of death, it was the colour of mourning and loss.

The raven sat on a table, watching as a letter was written. The writer a mystery to her eyes. But she saw the flash of names.

Viserys
Aemond
Rhaella
Aegon

A letter for a raven, to be carried, gods know where.

Rhaella wasn't in control of what she was seeing. She wasn't in control of how she moved, and where she moved to.

All she knew was that in one moment she was looking down, watching as a pale hand moved across parchment, And then her eyes seemed to follow the bird through the sky.

She heard the whisper of her name through the wind. The princess reached her hand out to grab onto the bird, but when her hand made contact with the animal, a string of images pulled through her mind.

Flashes of black feathers. Clanging of swords. Splashing of crimson blood. Screaming children. Men called to war. The iron throne. Dragon Flame.

The images came in flashes, not giving enough time for Rhaella to process any of them.

Then her vision went black. Until it changed again, back to the raven flying through the sky with a scroll trapped between its claws.

Her vision changed once again, this time to the letter being opened.

She didn't pay any attention to what had actually been written in full. Her eyes wouldn't let her, it appeared muddled and blurred.

But she could see the last part of it, the twirling handwriting which was overly flirtatious.

Yours Alys.

As soon as her eyes saw the name of that witch, the images from before bombarded the dream again.

Black feathers. Clanging of swords. Splashing of crimson blood. Screaming children. Men called to war. The iron throne. Dragon Flame.

And again.

Black feathers. Clanging of swords. Splashing of crimson blood. Screaming children. Men called to war. The iron throne. Dragon Flame. Pouring wine.

They repeated relentlessly, hammering into her brain, till it was impossible for them to disappear from her memory.

Black feathers. Clanging of swords. Splashing of crimson blood. Screaming children. Men called to war. The iron throne. Dragon Flame.

It didn't stop until the last bird fell. The last collision of swords. The last drop of blood hit the floor. The screaming stopped and the men returned home. The last flame traveled through the sky. And the last bit of wine was drank.

It didn't stop until Alys rivers lay dead at her feet.

And then the dream shifted again.

Rhaella could tell time had passed, how long remained unclear.