The Dragon-Tamer

32

"Tell me how you know that Otto Hightower is responsible for the death of my daughter," Daemon stood over the maid, arms crossed. Rhaenyra stood near him, a similar expression on her face.

"I remembered it was before the dinner with His Grace," The maid began to recount the events leading up to the tragedy, "I was in charge of getting the young ladies prepared for dinner and I had left to grab something, I cannot remember. It was then when I saw him."

"Otto?" Rhaenyra asked.

The maid nodded, "Yes, Princess, but he wasn't alone. He had a serving maid with him and they were speaking with each other. I got close enough so that I could hear them, but not to where I could be seen. I saw Ser Otto hand her a small, green vial, and he told her to "keep dropping it in the blonde one's cup."

Satisfied with the answer, Daemon dismissed her, "Thank you, you may go now."

The maid quickly got up to her feet and scurried out of the room, desperate to get back to her post.

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Feyre watched as the Silent Sisters worked. They made sure to be gentle when wrapping Aemma in the white cloth, out of respect of her age and her family.

Feyre had now worn black three times in her life, and she hated it all three times. The color black now disgusted her.

She looked down at the sleeping boy in her arms, her son. The small baby looked so at peace, blissfully unaware of the pain surrounding his family. Feyre felt envious of him.

Just then, Feyre feels a hand on her shoulder. She turns around to see Daemon standing at her side, their new baby girl nestled in his arm.

"Are you sure you want to be here for this?" Daemon gently asked her.

"I cannot bring myself to leave her," Feyre whispers, her voice hoarse from crying, "She gets cold easily; I want to make sure they are covering her properly."

Daemon only nods, and he looks between the twins, "You know...we still need names for these two."

Feyre looked away from Aemma and down at the baby in her arms, "What do you have in mind?"

"I was thinking for him...Percy," Daemon nodded at his son, "I remember that you always wished for your son to be named."

Feyre cracks a small smile, "And for her?"

Daemon glanced over at Aemma's body, "How about Aelin?"

"Aelin...," Feyre looked at her baby girl and nodded, "Yes, she does seem like an Aelin, doesn't she?"

The two share a warm smile with each other, but it was brief as they remembered where they were. It felt wrong to them. For them to be speaking of things like baby names like they are not going through the most horrible thing.

"The maid told us what happened," Daemon told her.

"So he truly did it?" Feyre asked, already planning Otto's death in her mind.

Daemon nodded, "The bastard didn't even try to hide it."

He pulled out a piece of paper, "She left this one for you."

Feyre took the paper and unfolded it. She took a sharp breath as she recognized Aemma's handwriting.

Mama,
If you are reading this, then I must be dead then. Who knew that my life would be so short? I never got to do any of the things I truly wanted to do. I never got married and had children of my own. Oh, how I so desperately wanted children. I grew up seeing you raise Lyssa and how you treated my brothers and sisters. It gave the confidence that I could have been a good mother, just like you were. But you were never just a mother to me, you were my best friend. You made me the happiest little girl in Westeros and I am forever thankful for that. I love you, Mama, and I hope to be together when the time is right.
Love,
Aemma