The Prince and His Flower

N I N E T Y - N I N E

Aegon had demanded (though begged would have been the more proper description) Aemma to return to Kings Landing once he heard of her imprisonment. He wanted to go to her initially, but Sunfyre was still missing; one morning the soldiers had gone to check on him and he had disappeared, leaving no trace. He sent raven after raven to Harrenhal, but she only avoided his requests and sent back meaningless words.

He had worried himself sick, and instead of spending all of his worrying over her, he decided to entertain his children. Aemond would take care of her anyways. He sat Jaehaera and Maelor on his lap, resisting the urge to groan in pain as his legs ached, and raced down the corridors in his chair. They screamed with delight, demanding he do it over and over again until his arms felt like they were going to fall off.

"No more." He sighed, lifting them and putting them back on their feet. "My arms will fall off."

"Truly?" Jaehaera lifted his sleeve to inspect his arm, her nose scrunched in disgust.

"No!" He laughed, playfully swatting her hand away. "It's just a saying."

She seemed lost in thought for a few moments before slowly nodding her head. She climbed back into his lap and waited expectantly. "Let's go find her together."

"Jaehaera..." He rolled his eyes and sighed when she pouted.

"Please, Father?" She asked sweetly, nuzzling into his chest.

"Fine." They went off in search of Helaena together, with Maelor trailing behind them. She was sitting in the King's chambers, inspecting the Old Valyria model that their father had been working on for years. Aegon hated the thing, but he could never bring himself to have it removed after he moved into the apartments. Every lecture, every scolding, every ignorant conversation with his father had taken place in front of that stupid model, but it felt like the only thing that reminded him of the man who was never there.

Aegon deposited Jaehara onto Halaena's lap and kissed Maelor goodbye before going to find Grand Maester Orwyle, the wrinkled pig. He was sitting in the rookery, his mottled hands shaking as he wrote letter after letter. He rose to his feet, bowing as deeply as he could when he noticed the King, which wasn't very low, as his back cracked and he struggled to right himself before hobbling back to his desk. The ravens cawed loudly but silenced themselves as Aegon approached.

"Have you received any word from Daeron?" He asked, looking pointedly at the stack of unopened letters that threatened to topple over from a light breeze.

"Yes, Your Grace. He has heeded your advice and will make the trip to Harrenhal as soon as he can. He has left Ser Gwayne in charge of their host." The old maester gulped, seemingly nervous. "There has been no word from Princess Aemma."

That wasn't a surprise to him anymore. He wondered if she planned to take the city with her mother, or if she would watch from afar. She would definitely take the city, he could already imagine it; her hair braided out of her face, dressed in armor fit for a god, her sword at her side as she burned the Red Keep around him... he was shocked at how much that vision excited him.

Aemma had decided to give Erryk a funeral of Targaryen customs. He had felt like family in her heart and deserved to be treated as such. She performed the ceremony in Valyrian as was the Targaryen way and placed his sword on the pyre to be burned with him.

"His last words were apologies," she said in the Common Tongue. "He feared he had broken his oath in protecting me, but nobody else could have done a finer job. I grew up with him; he stood diligently outside my door for years, he was the first person I saw in the mornings and the last person I spoke to at night. He even turned a blind eye to the many, many times I snuck out of the Keep. He was like a father in many ways..." And he has died like all of my fathers, the princess thought bitterly. Her heart had grown accustomed to the feeling of loss, but still, the urge to cry nearly overtook her. She bit her trembling lip and looked to Aemond, who was standing a few paces away with a look of sympathy and guilt. "He was an ally, my protector, and my closest friend." Her voice cracked and she turned away from the crowd that watched her, forcing herself to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat, stealing her words. "I shall honor him in my actions, and in my heart. Ser Erryk Cargyll, may you rest in peace." Terrax lit the pyre as he had done once before, the grief rolling off him in waves as he took to the skies, leaving her with the burning body. She watched it for hours until the roaring fire turned to embers and the sun began to sink over the horizon. Her grief boiled and simmered, folding over itself again and again until it turned into something else entirely; rage. It was a rage that consumed her to the point that her hands shook and her ears burned a bright red, the kind of rage that a walk could not help. It was the kind of rage that could only be quenched by revenge.