Aemma Velaryon was the spitting image of her mother; she had pale silver hair, fair skin, and dazzling blue eyes. She was a Targaryen in all sense but her last name which she bore from her father Laenor Velaryon. She was the younger twin of Lucerys...
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Seaguard was a bustling little town despite the threat of war that loomed overhead. The sun was shining high in the air, but there was a slight chill that made Aemma pull her cloak even closer to her face.
"Would they truly come searching for us here?" Olyvar asked.
"It depends on who is looking." Aemma looked around quickly to ensure nobody would overhear their conversation. "If the Hand wants to search, it is only a matter of time before we would be found. I intend to be in Winterfell before that happens."
"What if Prince Daemon is looking for us?" Olyvar asked. "Your dragon flying around overhead all but screams our presence."
"If Prince Daemon should come looking for me, I will do what I must to keep us safe." Aemma led the horses to the stables, giving the stableboy five silvers for their safekeeping.
"Five silvers for one night is rather generous of you," Olyvar remarked as they left the stables.
"I have had that horse for years, I will pay the price to ensure his safekeeping." Aemma shrugged. She looked around the dirt streets, bustling with smallfolk and merchants alike. Her eyes scanned the slightly rundown buildings, searching for any inn or tavern that could provide shelter.
"There." Olyvar pointed to a small building separate from the others. Four men stumbled out, looking confused that it was the day.
Despite its rundown appearance, the tavern was clean enough on the inside. It smelled like wood and alcohol, a smell Aemma had once been very familiar with.
"Do you have rooms available?" Aemma asked the barkeep, a hulking man who looked to be at least six feet tall, with arms as thick as tree trunks. His hair was black as night, and his eyes matched. He had a hooked nose and small worm-like lips. Aemma resisted the urge to shudder when his dark eyes met hers.
"That your son or your brother?" His voice was deep and had the slightest hint of an unknown accent.
"Brother." Aemma glanced at Olyvar, who was standing still as stone. "So you have rooms available?"
"You two don't look too similar." The man leaned forward slightly, scrutinizing Aemma's face. "Those cuts on your face look nasty; where'd you get 'em?"
"I fell." Aemma's eyes glanced to the axe that leaned on the wall behind the man. "Tripped, really, into some bushes."
"And that one there?" The man pointed to the stitched gash on her temple.
"I hit a rock." Aemma swallowed. "We just need a place to stay for one night, then we would trouble you no longer."
"Where are you headed?" He asked.
"Away from here. The war... our father died at the Battle of the Burning Mill. We just want to get away from it all." Aemma pouted her lips and looked down at the counter, a tear threatening to spill over. Olyvar watched her intently, wondering what she was thinking.
