Burn me • Aemond Targaryen

A Voice To A Name

Chapter Fifty-Eight~ A Voice To A Name

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Something felt different.

Something felt off.

There was a presence somewhere that was making the scales tip ever so slightly.
And Rhaella knew that unbalance was not a thing that could be welcomed into the red keep unless it was tipping things in her favor.

She'd seen a shadow in the hidden parts of the night, which should've been impossible, but darkness had a way of finding darkness.

The princess had followed it, creeping behind, then beside behind columns, then in front till she got an idea where this presence was heading.

Queen Aemma's solar's had been left to collect piles of dust since her death. Rhaella's father had never found it within his weak and fragile mind to order the place be kept clean.

Another thing he had failed to do.

It was a large room, with a heath and various comforting chairs. The love seat by the window being Rhaella's personal favorite. Ivy had been carved into the stone columns that upheld the room, poems accompanied. Different collections of literature sat on marble shelves opposite

But it was the ceiling that kept the mystical spirit of Aemma Aryn alive.

It was painted a deep rich blue, and various celestial constellations were depicted in marvelous shades of gold and silver outlining the different clutches of stars.

She lost her thought when she looked up at it, and for a minute she almost got herself caught. But the sound of the door opening behind her pulled her from her awe and pushed her to hide beside the marble casement of books.

It was a hooded figure, a man by the looks of it. He was tall and slender. His hands were pale, under the dim light that was given from night.

She watched as he pulled a bottle of wine from his leather satchel, he reached forward for a goblet and began pouring the deep rouge liquid into the cup.

There was something familiar about the way he moved, the way he breathed. But Rhaella couldn't pin it.

It was as if she was hearing a symphony again, one that she had forgotten but not heard in that long she had not realized she had forgotten it at all.

But she didn't take kindly to unfamiliar things, so her hand went to her knife and she emerged from the shadows dressed as an ethereal nightmare.

"Choose your next move very carefully." She muttered, holding the blade round to the side of the man's neck. "Or else your blood will merge with your wine."

"Come now Rhaella." The Valyrian caught her off guard, but at least she could now put a voice to a name and a name to a face. "Is that how you treat your little brother after all these years?"

Daeron.

~

"But Borros is supposed to be a proud cunt!" Daeron said to his sister. "That's why Rhaynera would've sent him there, she would've thought he would've been grabbing at the chance to boast that he had a prince under his roof."

Rhaella scoffed. "Perhaps he would've, had Aemond and I not gotten there first." She told him. "After all, having the epiphany of old Valyria under your roof, the two oldest dragons in the land resting by the cliffs of your castle is a much better thing to boast about than having a whispered strong bastard with only Targaryen blood from his mother in his veins and a hatchling dragon to ride."