Burn me • Aemond Targaryen

Epilogue

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Silence.

Not a single sound.

Rhaella felt an overwhelming feeling of complete nothingness. She couldn't hear a thing or see a thing, she couldn't even taste the acidic taste of foxglove she had left on her tongue only moments ago, nor could she feel the pain the plant gripped from her chest to pull her here. into nothingness.

Her mother had taught her that sin would result in her withering and screaming in a fiery pit of burning agony in the depths of hell for all eternity. And by the gods, that is all she has done fo. the most part of her life. Sin, cheat, sin, lie, sin, murder. Any atrocity you could think of Rhaella had done one thousand times worse, all with a sinister smile. on her pretty face.

And as she lay here, if she was even lay, wrapped in a sense stealing blanket of death, she wondered if this was the punishment. To be stripped of everything that gave her life and abandoned to her own thought, maddening and twisted, alone and empty forever.

Perhaps that vision with Aemond had been her demons catching up with her, she had heard the whispers of her sanity, she had even began to question if she was mad herself. But she. had taken deaths hand with the idea that she was coming home to her son and husband, not being trapped with her mind forever.

It made her scream.

It had made her scream.

She screamed.

She was sure she did, because she heard it.

And unless it was her madness coming to say hello, she most definitely just made a sound and heard it.

She began counting her fingers in her head, and when she focused had enough she could feel her thumb pressing against each digit as the numbering began to fill her ears.

She fisted her hand, and she felt soft cotton sheets gripped in her hands.

Bedding, it felt like bedding. Soft, comfortable and fresh. Then she felt it soft against her skin, like she had just left a warm bath, and all her dirty sins with it and climbed into freshly pressed sheets.

Well then. Her mother had been wrong. Because she was certainly tainted by the blood of many lives, and instead of screaming in eternal pain, Rhaella lay comfortable in fresh cotton sheets.

When Rhaella's eyes opened she felt weightless, almost as if she wasn't there at all. She knew she had to be dead, but she didn't feel it.

The first thing she saw was the canopy of her bed, the sheet of white lay over the four posts with a print of the sun and moon embroidered into the middle.

Then when she sat up she was hit with the smell and the sight of what looked like hundreds of red roses. Bouquets sat in various vases around the room. And she wondered if this is what the heavens were.

"Too much?" Came his voice from the corner of the room.
Aemond had been sat in the chair and she hadn't even noticed him. "Helaena helped me do it whilst you slept."

He wore a loose fitting white cotten shirt, and she was confused because it hadn't been mended properly.

Aemond followed her gaze to the ill fitted sleeve and breathed a laugh. "I can't do it like you can." He sighed, standing from the stool. He pulled the shirt over his head and flattened it out on the bed beside her. "You can fix it if you like."

Rhaella reached her hand out to touch it. It sent a shock through her skin traveling a buzz straight to her heart and then she felt it.

A small piece of her heart lifting back into place.