The Prince and His Flower

N I N E T Y - F O U R

Dragonstone had once been a source of joy in Aemma's life, the grey stone walls holding laughter and happy memories, but now it felt bleak and full of sorrow and despair. Aemma slid down from her saddle and ran a hand along Terrax, trying to calm his discomfort. He felt the heavy aura just as much as she did, his eyes darting around every few seconds looking for any signs of danger. 

"I'm scared too," she cooed, resting her forehead against him. He seemed to relax slightly after her words of encouragement but still looked around fervently. Despite his size and menacing appearance, he was timid at times, his emotions reflecting those of his rider. 

The sun had nearly set completely, leaving her with a little bit of light as she climbed the winding stone steps, careful not to step on any of the eroded stones. It was oddly empty, the steps devoid of any guards walking on patrol. Perhaps most of their fighting force had gone to Harrenhal with Daemon, readying themselves for another battle. 

She had managed to nearly walk straight up to the gate before she heard swords unsheath and the sound of a crossbow being loaded. Guards appeared from all sides, surrounding her quickly. 

"Wait!" She called out, holding her hands up. "It's me."

The guards in front of her faltered in their formation once they saw her pale hair and burned hands, their faces going from shock to fear. 

"Princess Aemma?" One of them called out timidly. He took a small step closer, allowing Aemma to fully see his face. "Drop your weapons!" He barked, letting his sword clatter to the ground as he dropped to one knee, bowing his head.

Aemma remembered seeing his face many times in her youth; he had been one of their household guards, but she had never learned his name. The rest of the guards followed, each of them taking their time paying their respects before standing once more. They looked... sheepish almost, standing there waiting for her to speak.

"Take me to my mother. Take me to the Queen." She spoke at last.

Servants and guards alike were scurrying through the halls, trying to finish all of their tasks before nighttime. Everyone that Aemma passed in the halls immediately broke out into hushed whispers, wondering if they had just seen a ghost. She paid them no mind, their whispers were the least of her concerns at the moment. Soon she was standing outside her mother's chambers, and her heart was in her throat. The Queensguard standing post outside her door opened it for Aemma, his hand shaking as he did. He did not announce her presence, perhaps his shock robbed him of his words, and so Aemma entered her mother's chambers alone. 

Rhaenyra was slouched over her desk, her eyes pouring over the countless letters from her bannermen, each of them begging for more food and weapons as they spilled blood on the battlefields. After the recent burnings of Keeps by the Greens, food had become more scarce for the Blacks and they were becoming desperate to supply for their armies. She rubbed a hand down her tired face and began writing her response, but the floorboards creaking raised her attention. She looked over her shoulder lazily, expecting to see Jace or Joffery, but instead, she saw Aemma. Her Flower.

"How cruel must the Gods be to taunt me with the ghost of my own daughter?" She asked herself, shaking her head. But something was off; Aemma looked more grown up since the last night she had been alive, and Rhaenyra didn't think ghosts grew up. Or perhaps she had truly descended into madness and her mind was simply playing a horrible trick on her. 

But then Aemma took a step forward and opened her mouth to speak.

"Mother!" She cried out, launching herself in her mother's arms. And just like that she was a little girl again, crying into her mother's chest.