cruel gods [aemond targaryen]

XXXI

She dreamt. Held away far, Alicent greeting her with a smile upon her face and her arms widened, Otto stood beside her as he kissed her forehead. Her children, now grown into ages of independence, ran into the arms of their grandmother.

Aemond, his war scars faded, stood behind her, clutching into the fabric of her dress, like a small child, his smile so wide— she could memorise all his teeth. The realm, now sat happily upon their rocks, all feasted together in harmony.

Rhaenyra sat at one end, Aegon at the other, raising their glasses as they passed. Peace, happiness. She dreamt.

Her eyes awoke to the brutal force of the world, she wished to close them again. Stood over her was the maesters of the keep, all eyeing her with both concern and confusion. She did nothing, her throat feeling more hoarse as she awoke.

And her head— it was now thumping, with a dull ache to go with it. Her eyes slowly looked around, the walls of stone lit with the small window peeking. She realised where she was, from the uncomfortable nature of the mattress and the candle sticks, she knew she was in maegors holdfast.

Helaena, Alicent, Maellery, whoever else could they capture?

She sat up for a moment, watching as the maesters jumped back— was she now to be treated as some sort of criminal? She scrunched her eyebrows in distaste, wondering how she could allow such a thing to happen.

The maesters eyed her carefully, their mouths moving, Maellery could not hear the words they said. After a while they stopped trying, turning around and retreating rather slowly from her cell. Maellery did nothing, watching as the door slammed shut behind them.

She turned her gaze to the window, she could see the birds flying. She had never wished to be a bird and here she sat, wishing for wings. But where would she go? Back to Aemond? She thought for a moment, she would go back to him and then drag him back home—her home. Wherever that may be.

Her mind boomed over her, acting like an annoyed friend. It repeated the words that Daemon had told her before she slept— because he ordered it. He was wrong of course, Aemond would tell her.

Aemond would come. She led down, staring at the cracks in the brick wall. Aemond would come.

"What is wrong with her?" Rhaenyra stood, staring through the small bars into the girls cell, watching as her fingers lightly traced the cracks. She was meant to be fighting, meant to be screaming and such. It seemed Daemon had brought back a version of Maellery she didn't even know had existed.

The maesters beside her looked around, clearing their throats. They were old, withering away in front of her. And still, they looked far better than Maellery. "If we can your grace-" they paused, waiting for her permission, when they received it they continued.

"We have not known Maellery as long, but we know she did not have the strength to be as you did." Another pause. "It is the same as her husband, though wilder than her, bound together with duty. She watched her father die, she clung to her mother's head for hours. Her maid was slain— nowhere to be found. She is not a normal girl."

Rhaenyra nodded. "We have all been cursed with grief."

"It seems she was born with it." Rhaenyra paused, looking back toward the girl, her eyes focusing rather on her arms wrapped around her torso, slowly rubbing her own back. In ways, she saw herself, in others she saw someone else. Different.

When Daemon had told her of her actions, she had expected an evil weasel, weaving around like a ghost, whispering things into the wind. She expected to find a puppet master, like Otto Hightower or Criston Cole. She did not expect to find a girl who clung to someone who caused her the upmost grief.