Chapter Text
“Hey, girl!” A shriek pierced through the silent darkness, startling Rhaena.
Suddenly, she was being swept into firm, long arms wafting mildly of dragon-back and the sea. She forced her eyelids open further and braved the burn of red and gold, squinting up at her rescuer.
“Father?”
The hooded shadow turned.
“He’s not here,” Aemond answered.
His face was masked and unfeeling as he took her in, pinning her in place with his one good eye. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, cousin. What ill luck.”
With a jerk of his head, his scar and eye-patch were turned away and Rhaena could finally breathe. Maybe try not to swallow her own heart as it pounded furiously in her throat.
“GUARDS!” Aemond hollered. “GUARDS?”
Only the echo of his footsteps answered him, however. They resounded in the Red Keep ominously like drops of water in the darkest and quietest of nights.
Was this a nightmare, Rhaena wondered.
Were the odds stacked so high against her and the gods scornful that of all people, Aemond Targaryen was the only man nearby? How worse could the day get?
Father had already dealt her a heavy blow as it is in front of the King’s court with his announcement. Rhaena, unlike Baela, was not to be betrothed until he saw fit. For what reason he did not say but she suspected it started with a head and ended with a tail. After all value and power was synonymous to dragons in father’s eyes. That was no secret.
The news had unleashed emotions Rhaena had not anticipated. Had the strength of the gods not contained her she would have hurtled out of the Throne Room like a bat from the seven hells. She was able to excuse herself as befit her station, however, and it was only till she’d stopped running that she’d found herself lost, alone and faint.
And who else was there to relish her misery other than Aemond Targaryen himself? He loathed her, she was sure, for the eventual loss of his eye that fateful night. He would drink her tears from his chalice given the chance. What ill luck indeed.
“Where am I?”
She frowned at the clearing haze, seeing only shapes and shadows in the distance.
“Far from the merry-making, for sure. Is that why you’re out here?”
His voice dripped with satisfaction as he goaded her. Even with one eye he could observe so much.
“What does it matter to you?” Rhaena stuttered, turning away.
She could hide behind the veil of her silver dreadlocks for as long as she needed just to avoid that searing stare.
“Hmm. It doesn’t matter to me in the least but I’m bound, you see. As your host.”
“Then put me down if I’m such a bother.”
She attempted to wriggle out of his grip. Anywhere else was better than being stuck here with him.
“Don’t be thick now, cousin!” Aemond held on stubbornly, his iron grip tightening. “Or would you have me labeled a deserter?”
“Surely, a deserter bears far more honor than a thief,” Rhaena blurted out.
But she would soon regret the fervor of her own anger as she was met swiftly with Aemond’s.
She froze as his deadly eye bore into hers, wide and darker than the deepest depths of the stormy seas grandfather had survived. Her body vibrated with his fury and suddenly she was aware of whose mercy she was under.
“If Lucerys Strong can keep his eye and more, I can have my dragon,” he said through gritted teeth. “Now stay put or I’ll regret ever…”
“My Prince! What happened?”
They had not heard the guards coming in the heat of the moment.
Aemond tore his gaze off Rhaena to drop his hood with one lift of his chin. “Ser Lumphrey! I was starting to think you’d deserted your post!”
“I apologize, my Prince,” Ser Lumphrey panted. “You see, we were looking for Princess Rhaena.”
“It seems not even the demons of the Seven Hells can outrun you, cousin,” Aemond remarked, never looking at her. “She’s unwell. I found her here just now.”
“Then let us relieve you, Your Grace.”
Aemond’s arm gave way and her feet struck the ground, wobbling momentarily as his other arm slipped away with a gentle rustle.
The faceless guards popped into view, clad in silver but none with black capes. The imposing one at the front, Ser Lumphrey, bowed his head.
“Princess, will you come with us to your guest chambers?”
“Has my father sent you?” Rhaena asked, still light headed.
It had to be father. Perhaps he was finally considering changing his mind. He’d seen how he hurt her.
“On whose orders are you here?”
A shiver came upon her as the men exchanged puzzled looks.
Aemond loomed over her from behind. “Are you deaf, Lumphrey? Who sent you?”
“The Princess Rhaenyra, your Grace,” Ser Lumphrey hesitated.
Of course.
Rhaena swallowed ash and spikes as her eyes filled with tears. She couldn’t recognize her own voice when she opened her mouth. “I need to see him. My father. Where is he?”
“He is not here,” Ser Lumphrey's voice echoed like the distant toll of a bell. “Prince Daemon left on dragon back.”
“Where to?” Rhaena tore out.
“I cannot say. Only that he left suddenly.”
“Will you come with us, Princess?” A new voice, maybe one of the other men, pled.
But Rhaena could not unseal her lips to speak or afford the courtesy of a kind smile. Nothing mattered. Nothing fucking mattered.
When a hand closed around her arm, though, the numbness fled. Suddenly, the fire in her veins exploded vengefully.
“Don’t touch me!” She roared, then stumbled back.
Father’s patronizing face haunted her everywhere she turned. An unquenchable fire extending its reach, burning everything in its path.
“RHAENA!” Aemond warned.
His long arms caught her again and she was too resigned to fight this time. Her fire had fizzled out as soon as it had came. Just like her dragon egg.
“Aemond, don’t…” she feebly tried to forbid him.
But it was no use.
“You answer to me, do you not, Sir Lumphrey?” He thundered impatiently.
“Yes, My Prince,” Ser Lumphrey stuttered. “As your protector.”
“Then tell my dear sister to come find me. Alert the Maesters and bring them to the Lady.”
“Of course, your Grace.”
“You know where I’ll be. Crenshaw, follow me.”
“Aemond…” Rhaena complained once again, but the fog only grew heavier and her body fainter.
With his quick, purposeful steps her body found a rhythm and it sounded like the sea washing up on a beach in Pentos, or pebbles skipping across the steady waters of Driftmark.
Rhaena drowned in the feeling only to abruptly be revived by a clang of objects. She was neither in Pentos with mother, nor in Driftmark with grandmother.
Instead, an adorable, little pale-haired girl donned in a golden tunic was staring down at her, wide-eyed.
“Who are you, dearest?” Rhaena made an effort to smile, reaching out for the child.
The babe flinched at her touch, however, scrambling out of sight.
“Hey..?” Rhaena called out, propping herself up.
But the words instantly died off her lips when she realized where she was.
The seven pointed star on the wall, the green drapes, the golden cutlery and the polished, pearly floor.
Aemond had brought Rhaena to the Queen’s chambers. The lioness’s den.
To escape unscathed would be a fantasy.