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Chapter nine
Aemma knelt at the sept as she wept. Holding her hands together, she prayed. Please.
I do not have much to show. I need a dragon. Please. I need to prove I am a Targaryen. Please. She wept with her unhatched dragon egg.
She had started praying more since that weird dream that seemed more reality than dream.
Please.
She wept to the mother, to the crone. She wept.
Another day, another hour, she prayed. Please.
She accused one day, is it because I'm a bastard? Is it truly so disgusting that you deny me my right?
She cried and apologised another day, praying for guidance.
Months passed by, a distance slowly growed between her and the sept. She walked through the odd corridors of Dragonstone, hoping for an answer.
She was walking around when she saw a boy around her own age swing at a mud figure with a wooden sword. She decided to stop and watch him.
The boy was thin, with no muscles. He had brown curly hair. That's all she could make from far. She hid in a corner and watched him fail miserably at swordplay.
He attacked the figure with the wrong stance. And he was doing a low war cry every time he attacked for some reason.
He was tall like her, and had horrible posture too. At first glance she thought it was Jace but changed her mind at the common clothes he was wearing.
She finally couldn't take it anymore and decided to intervene. "Stop,stop, you are doing it all wrong."
He yelped at her voice and dropped his wooden sword and turned his head around frantically until he saw her standing in a corner.
He gaped at her, standing frozen like a deer. After a while he finally spoke, "P-princess, my sincerest apologies.."
She looked at him with a confused look as she walked closer, "what in the seven hells are you apologising for?" She asked him, as his face grew flustered.
