Appetence || Aemond Targaryen

06

Goodbyes seemed to haunt her lately; scarcely two hours had passed since her grandfather and uncle departed, and now she had to say farewell to Jacaerys and Lucerys. As she looked at them, standing before her with expressions that mirrored her own mix of sadness and resolve, she couldn't help but feel a pang of worry. They were moving to Dragonstone, a decision born out of whispers about their legitimacy and the growing discomfort of Rhaenyra's treatment at the Red Keep. It was a necessary move, yet it tore at her heart to see them leave.

"I'll miss you both," she murmured.

"We'll write," Jacaerys promised, "And visit whenever we can."

Lucerys nodded in agreement. "Dragonstone will be different, but we'll make the best of it — at least that's what mother said."

Lyra let out a soft chuckle and nodded. "Promise me," she said softly, meeting their gazes with sincerity, "that you'll keep me close in your letters. And when time allows, visit me here."

"We promise," Jacaerys affirmed, "You'll hear from us often, Lyra."

Their embrace was warm, a silent vow exchanged. For a fleeting moment, the noise around them faded, leaving only their bond and the unspoken hope of reunion.

As they parted ways, Lyra watched them depart with sadness. The Red Keep would feel emptier without them, and she felt herself growing lonelier by the minute.

Afterward, the only one who inquired about her well-being was Princess Helaena. Lyra appreciated having the princess by her side at all times. Helaena's kindness had shown her that people could be genuinely good, and Lyra felt that their friendship would endure a lifetime.

***

The next morning, Lady Lyra woke up as usual. It felt strange knowing this would be her first day without Uncle Harwin and the Velaryon boys around. She chose a pale blue dress and began to do her hair when someone knocked on the door. At her quick "enter," the person obliged and stepped inside.

It was her father. He entered her chambers without the usual courtesies. They hadn't spoken since their argument yesterday, and if she was honest with herself, she was still mad at him. He stood there for a moment, gathering his thoughts, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond her.

"Father?" she asked.

"Daughter," he began, his voice low and strained. "There is no easy way to say this." He paused, "Your uncle and grandfather...are dead."

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. For a moment, she couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The news hit her like a physical blow, knocking the air from her lungs.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. "No, that can't be true."

Her father's expression remained neutral, almost detached, "I'm afraid it is. There was a fire at Harrenhal. They didn't survive."

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision. Her legs felt weak, and she sank to the floor, her body racked with sobs. The pain was unbearable, a raw, searing agony that tore at her heart. Harwin, her dear, beloved uncle, and Lyonel, who had always been a good grandfather to her – gone, just like that.

"Why?" she cried, looking up at her father, seeking answers where there were none. "How did this happen?"

"I do not have all the details," he replied, his voice flat and emotionless. "But it was an accident, or so it seems."

The room seemed to close in around her, the walls pressing in, suffocating her. She wanted to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all, but all she could do was cry, her tears flowing freely, a river of sorrow that seemed endless.