House of Targaryen

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The Weight of Absence

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Over the next few months, much had changed. I had pushed away those closest to me. I often took
Lethryx to far lands, vanishing from court days at a time.

Each week Daemon wrote to me, and each letter was personally burned.

A new guard had sworn to me; Ser Alden. He was carefully chosen by Daemon himself; a thought that failed to provide me a semblance of comfort.

At some point, my heart and mind were forced into silence. The was a much more pressing matter to attend to.

My father.

He grew weaker by night, his face merely recognizable. When I often visited, the masters inside greeted me, yet their faces painted a grim picture.

In one of our short conversations he slime off his desire to see me settled. The words hit me like a blow. Marriage had always been a distant thought, something I knew would come eventually but had never desired. The memory of conversations where I expressed such things with Daemon resurfaced. He was no longer around to defend my matters of heart as he once promised to.

As days passed in the Red Keep, I felt a mix of emotions. Fear for the future, sorrow for my father's impending loss, and a lingering sense of uncertainty. The corridors seemed darker now, the castle more foreboding.

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Morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a soft, golden hue across my chambers. It should have been a new day, a fresh start, but instead, it felt like the remnants of a storm that refused to pass. The council meeting the night before had left me in a haze of restless thoughts.

I sat by the window, absently twisting a ring on my finger as I watched the sun slowly climb above the horizon.

The view from my chambers overlooked the gardens, a picturesque scene that had once brought me solace. Now, it seemed distant, almost mocking in its beauty.

A soft knock at the door broke through my reverie. I hesitated, momentarily considering ignoring it, but the routine of decorum forced me to my feet.

"Enter," I called, my voice sounding more resigned than I intended.

The door creaked open, and a guard stepped in, bowing slightly. "Prince Aemond requests an audience, your grace."

I felt a chill at the mention of his name. After all that had happened between us, I wanted to avoid making any further mistakes. Still, there was a part of me that wanted to see him, to grasp at something familiar in the sea of uncertainty.

"Let him in," I replied, my voice betraying none of the turmoil within.

The guard nodded and disappeared. Moments later, by stepped into the room, his presence commanding as ever. He was dressed in dark, regal attire, the black leather of his tunic accentuating the sharp lines of his features. His single eye, as always, held an intensity that made it impossible to look away.

"Lenora," he said, his voice low and controlled, as he approached me.

"Aemond," I replied, feeling the familiar tension between us, a taut string pulled just short of breaking.

He stopped a few feet from me, his gaze searching mine. For a moment, neither of us spoke, the silence hanging heavy between us. It was as if both of us were waiting for the other to break it, to make the first move.