The Prince and His Flower

N I N E T Y - E I G H T

They were left there with Erryk's body, which began to emit a horrible smell after the fourth day. The food had stopped coming, and a loud rumbling came from above them, sounding like thousands of footsteps moving all at once. Eventually the rumbling stopped, and they were left alone in the darkness.

Aemma and Olyvar clung to each other in silence, trying to keep themselves from growing mad. Their stomachs ached in hunger, and the burning in their throats from thirst made them weep. On the seventh day, they ate the bugs that crawled on the floor, eating Erryk's decomposing corpse. Olyvar was lucky enough to catch a rat, which satiated their thirst for the time being. 

On the tenth day Aemma scratched at the door until her fingernails broke and her hands were left a bloody mess. Then she pounded until she though her hands were broken. After that, her and Olyvar curled around each other, waiting for death.

When the torchlight came, it blinded them. She cried out in pain, bringing her wounded hands to her eyes to shield them from what felt like the strength of one thousand suns. She heard shouting, but she was too weak to pay attention to anything that was being said. Then she felt strong hands grab her shoulders, sitting her upright. 

"I failed you." A man said, brushing his cool fingers against her cheek. His breath hitched, but he cleared his throat to try and hide it. "Open your eyes, Aemma."

She did as she was told, blinking a few times in confusion as her eyes finally began to focus. Aemond was kneeling in front of her, his face a mix of agony and fury. He pulled her into his arms, squeezing her as tight as he could before inspecting her for any injuries. 

"Where do you want to go?" He asked. 

When she opened her mouth to answer, only a long, pained, cry came out. 

Aemma drained nearly three pitchers of water before she was finally satiated; she would have drank more but she worried her stomach might burst. Aemond sat across from her, handing her cup after cup as she drained them, and then handed her all the food she could eat. Dried meats and stale bread were the only options, but to her it was the richest meal she had ever tasted.

He took her to the bath and gently scrubbed at the dirt that had caked onto her skin and matted her hair, coughing every once in a while to hide his hitched breathing. He drained the tub once he was done scrubbing her body and filled it again himself before starting on her hair. He brushed as gently as he could, but it was nearly impossible to brush without pulling on the tangles. 

"Am I hurting you?" He asked, leaning over her shoulder to look at her. He gently rubbed her back, waiting for an answer. "Would you like for me to stop?"

"No." She said quietly, reaching up and taking his hand. There had been a time where this would have annoyed her, but now she was grateful. "Could I have some more water?" It was in her hand before she could even finish asking for it.

Aemond continued brushing her hair quietly, all the while seething and imagining what he would do to the men that let Daemon throw her in the dungeons. Simon Strong was the lord, yet even after Daemon left he left Aemma in there to rot. His hands began to shake in anger and he had to remind himself that she was his priority at the moment. At first, Aemma said little about what happened, but as the day progressed it was as if she couldn't stop until it was all said. She perched on the edge of the bed, tears flowing down her face as she recounted watching Erryk die; the smell, the sound of rats chewing on his flesh, the hunger, all of it. "It'll never end." She had sobbed. "These memories won't leave me!" Aemond listened dutifully from her side, his fury growing with each sentence. 

"What do you want to do?" He asked when she was done. 

"I want them all to burn."

Ser Criston rounded up Simon Strong and the rest of the knights, forcing them all into the courtyard where Aemma awaited them. She looked thin, and in her eyes seemed to be a deep anger that could not be calmed. Olyvar stood next to her, any remainder of his boyhood gone.