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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐝 its hands wrapped around her, submerging her underwater and holding her there, making her struggle until she could barely breathe. Her hands clawed desperately for air, slowly accepting her fate, only to be pulled back and mocked as she tried to regain her breath.
Rhaella Velaryon no longer pleaded for air as the Stranger dragged her into the depths of her sorrow. Instead, she embraced it, praying it would finally claim her. Claim her and grant her the mercy she sought.
Mercy? The Stranger knew nothing of the word.
The Princess soon learned that each morning she awoke with her chest heaving and tears streaming down her cheeks. The visions from her dreams haunted her entire being.
The scream from Arrax, the blood, the flesh. When she plummeted with Daelys, she believed it was the end, but the Stranger cackled and seized her by the hair, dragging her back.
She wept and screamed until her lungs burned and her throat grew raw. Rhaella shattered more objects than she could count in her fits of rage.
Once again, she found herself alone. Aemond was nothing to her, merely a painful memory that served to remind her of Lucerys. A husband in name only, to no one but those the Greens sought to deceive by proclaiming that Rhaenyra's only daughter had betrayed her for the 'one true King Aegon.'
Locked in her room, guarded by a sellsword who introduced himself as Daris Dayne, Rhaella found an unexpected comfort in his presence. In the days that had passed since her brother's death and the birth of her daughter, his silent companionship had been a small but significant solace. Though she had initially regarded him with suspicion, she had come to appreciate his quiet strength and the sense of security he provided. The world outside her room was filled with turmoil and betrayal, but within these walls, Daris Dayne was a steady, if silent, comfort.
'Princess Aemma Targaryen'
Her daughter, her Princess, was the sole comfort in the oppressive presence of the Hightowers. Rhaella had fiercely guarded Aemma, refusing to let anyone lay a hand on her, not even Aemond. In Aemma's lilac eyes and gentle coos, Rhaella found a fragile sanctuary, a reason to endure the darkness that surrounded her.
No wet nurse or maid did she dare let lay a finger on her. She chose to feed her child from her own breast, waking in the middle of the night countless times.
Aemond had tried to speak with her many times, but Rhaella no longer felt the need to listen. Her heart had hardened, and the betrayal she felt was too deep to be mended by mere words. His attempts at reconciliation were met with cold silence, as she focused all her energy on her daughter.
Her husband had killed her brother, and nearly killed herself, her daughter, and her dragon.
Her lilac eyes would gaze at the stone floor, cradling their daughter to her while examining each and every crack and speck of dust or dirt. Aemond's voice alone made her angry.
