Inferno | House of the Dragon

₃.₀

Vaemyra sits in the scalding bath, her body trembling as she scrubs at her skin with a rough cloth. The water, once clear and inviting, has turned pink from the constant scrubbing, swirling with the remnants of Rhaeyn's blood. No matter how hard she scrubs, she feels as though the blood has seeped into her very soul, staining her beyond redemption.

Her hands, raw and red, move with a frantic urgency, the cloth scraping against her flesh with a relentless rhythm. The pain is sharp, but she welcomes it. It is a distraction, a physical manifestation of the torment that consumes her heart and mind. The image of Rhaeyn's lifeless body, his eyes once so full of life now dull and empty, haunts her every thought.

She scrubs harder, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tries to erase the memory, the guilt. Her tears mingle with the bathwater, silent witnesses to her suffering. She cannot stop, cannot let the blood remain. It is a curse, a mark of her failure as a mother, as a protector.

The door to her chamber creaks open, but she does not hear it over the sound of her own anguish. A soft voice calls out her name, but it is lost to her ears. Only the scrubbing, the relentless, desperate scrubbing, fills her world.

She thinks of Rhaeyn, of the little dragon who once brought her so much joy. She thinks of the life they could have had, the future that was stolen from them. The pain is a constant, gnawing presence, a reminder of her failure.

"You blame yourself," Daemon says quietly.

The words pierce Vaemyra's heart like a dagger, and she lets out a strangled sob, "I killed him. I killed my own son."

Daemon steps forward, bending over to allow his fingertips to feel the temperature of the water. His lips remain shut and his eyes remain open as he watches the little dove as her feathers wilt.

Very few remember the old Vaemyra, or rather, the young Vaemyra. The little princess full of life and hope.

Now all the realm seems to remember is the woman fueled by rage and fire.

" Gaomagon daor ivestragī zirȳ ērinagon (Do not let them win)," Daemon utters, his voice low and soft.

" Ñuha tresy--"

" Could not be saved," Daemon says as he grabs her face to make her look up at him," Se zaldrīzes iksis morghe. Aōha tresy iksis morghe, yn aōha tala glaesagon (The dragon is dead. Your son is dead, but your daughters live)."

" Ñuha valzȳrys rhēdan iā vīlībāzma kesrio syt ziry ojūdan iā laes (My husband started a war because he lost an eye)," Vaemyra utters, her eyes locked on his as she reamins in the water," Skoros iksin nyke naejot gaomagon? (What am I to do?)"

" What you've always been good at. Listening."

Daemon's hand remains on her face, forcing her to stare into his eyes as she stares into his.

" Did you kill him?" Vaemyra asks.

But the words never leave his lips. Instead, Daemon removes his hand from Vaemyra's face and turns to leave her all alone in her chambers.

" Daemon!" She exclaims, standing up in her tub, the loud sound of the water dripping down back into the copper basin the only thing that fills the air as Daemon pauses," Does my husband still live?"

" We shall see," Daemon utters without turning his head, before he walks out of her chambers.

In the Red Keep, the news spreads like wildfire. Servants are dragged out from their beds, the gates are sealed and the hunt begins for whomever slayed the prince in his bed.