The Prince and His Flower

N I N E T Y - F I V E

Harrenhal was even more of a ruin than Daemon remembered; the half-melted towers cast a shadow on most of the courtyard, which was bustling with men and nurses alike. Caraxes watched from one of the towers, his body curled around it like a demented snake, his eyes constantly flickering back and forth. 

"My prince... Daemon, if I may," Simon Strong, the new weak lordling of Harrenhal, stumbled over. "Someone would like to speak with you. My bastard sister."

"What could be so important that I have to hear it from a whore wet nurse?" He asked with a scoff. "Very well."

Alys Rivers was a deeply unsettling woman; her thick black hair looked like it held the souls of dead children and her cold green eyes bore deep into Daemon's soul. She wore a plain necklace tight around her neck, adorned with one massive ruby that glowed redly even in the daylight. It shimmered and dimmed like an ocean wave.

Her bedchamber was modest, with just enough room for a small bed and desk pushed up right next to it. There was a small window that seemed to barely open and her trunk was noticeably empty.

"The fire speaks to me, Prince Daemon." Her voice was deep and rich, laced with the smallest of accents that Daemon couldn't quite place. "It shows me many things."

"I don't believe in prophecies." He spat. And from my blood will come the Prince That Was Promised rang in his ears, Rhaenyra's taunting voice replaying in his head over and over. 

"Good, because I don't either." She wasted no time on formalities, instead sitting on the edge of her bed and leaning back on the palms of her hands. "You're going to die soon."

"How so?" He knew this was a farce, yet he saw no harm in entertaining it for a little while longer.

"Silver is the shroud, your death is in the clouds." Alys had a playful smirk on her face. "You'll either bleed to death or drown, whichever comes first."

"And who is my killer?"

"Someone you have wronged."

"Well, that could be anybody."

"When your dragons meet in the sky, you'll know."

Silver shroud... silver shroud... does she mean silver hair? That didn't clear up any of Daemon's confusion, that could be anyone. No, a Targaryen. Or a Velaryon.

"So I must kill them before they kill me?"

"If you think you can change your fate, you're welcome to try. The flames don't lie, I'm afraid."

"I see." He pondered for a few moments. "Why are you telling me this?"

"To torment you. I know what you did and I know what you will do. And so does Aemma."

Alys Rivers was thrown into the dungeons. 

Daemon took a few careful steps in the adjacent cell, making sure Ser Erryk wouldn't try anything. The boy he was with was simply curled up in a ball, weeping. He had killed the others, they were useless to him.

"So, where's Aemma?" When Ser Erryk refused to respond, Daemon grabbed a handful of his hair and wrenched him upwards. "Where is she?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do."

"Even if I did, I would never tell you. I'll die before I let you hurt her!"

"You might have to. Perhaps if I make it known you're here she'll come out of hiding."

Erryk swiftly grabbed the dagger from Daemon's side and held it to his own throat.

"She won't come for a dead body."