𝔗𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐒𝐇
VII. DEATH AND REBIRTH

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⋆｡˚﹕121 AC ⎯ 𝖣𝖱𝖨𝖥𝖳𝖬𝖠𝖱𝖪

FOR AEMMA VELARYON there was very little room for grief the moment her father died in the hectic days upon Driftmark that followed. There was nothing that could soothe the agonising grief that tormented the young girl. At such an age, she had no right to feel so alone in the world.

The Princess stood alone, golden sliver locks dancing in the wind. The ocean lapped against her bare feet, drenching the hem of the deep teal of her dress. A dragon flew overhead its body casting a shadow over Aemma. Sunlight danced against its golden and gleaming scales. It was evident who had returned to Driftmark. Aegon.

Aemma found herself reeling, agitated. Her father's funeral had been hours ago. Upon the events that had occurred the King was declared exhausted by the maestors and the Queen consort refused to leave Aemond's side. Or at least, that was what her grandmother Rhaenys and grandsire Corlys had informed the children, along with Aemma herself.

Aemma found herself dousing herself with one single thought: why was Aegon here?

In the harrowing days of her father's death Aemma was inconsolable. It was unable to be soothed by her mother or brothers. She made a silent vow to herself, and in her anger she knew that she would seek revenge.

Again, Aemma thought, finding herself coming to her senses. Why was Aegon here?

Aemma was reeling, lost in her thoughts to attempt scramble for some sense of logic. This whole betrothal to Aegon had thrown her off coarse. He had never any real sense of obligation to her, nor her to him. All Aemma could guess that had simply changed now on the prospect of appearances and duty. It was the only logical explanation of why he was here

"Your father was often found where you are," said a voice behind her. The Sea Snake stood behind his eldest granddaughter and the Heir to Driftmark. Lord Corlys was a cunning man, drenched in fury and fire. Although, many would say that Lord Corlys belonged to the sea.

Yet, Aemma could not imagine the inconsolable pain of loosing both his daughter and son not only days apart but within the same year. The grief seemed like something Aemma could not imagine.

"I know," Aemma whispered forcing herself to recall all her memories of High Tide. Although, Aemma preferred her dragon mount Firedancer to horses, she could not deny the thrill of racing with her father and her brothers upon the beach. She remembered all the nights her father would tell her of his adventures and victories. The adventures upon ships in voyages around the island. The secret sparring with Aemma and her brothers following their father out into the dark in the secrecy that her mother would not know. The banquets and the dancing, the joy and laughter, Aemma could not bring herself to think of it. Those days were gone now.

"Your brother Jacaerys was born for the throne, but you my girl were born for the sea —- the Heir to Driftmark, the Lady of the Tides. You are your father's legacy, my legacy."

"It is a gracious responsibility I know I must uphold," Aemma admitted in the duty that is hers to bear. "Yet the King wishes for my brother Lucerys to be made heir to Driftmark in my betrothal to Aegon."

"Nonsense. The King will see reason, he always does. The exhaustion of his illness weakens the mind. Do you suppose that the milk of the poppy supports these delirious motions?"

"You speak of things as if they are simple, grandsire."

"I speak in the matter of your best interest, granddaughter. It is not easy to be born a woman. My own lady-wife has suffered in the line of succession and I do not wish for you of my own blood to bear the same fate."

Aemma only wished to melt into shadow. Her father had died merely days ago and the matter of succession of Driftmark was all that had mattered. She could not understand the vitality in its need for power and abundance.

"I-I don't want to think of it. I do not want anyone else to die. My life has been shrouded in death as of late."

"Death of those we have lost Aemma will not break you. You have my blood. Your father's blood. Those of how Velaryon will always find its way. So shall you."

"You forget I am my mother's daughter," Aemma mumbled. "I am also a Targaryen. . . I must tend to my brothers. I'm grateful for your council grandsire."

Aemma sighed, lifting the hem of her dress and turned on bare feet on the sand. How was one to deal with so many pressures?

The wind was harsh against her skin as she slipped on her soft worn slippers, the wet silk of her dress swishing against her calves, flaring her sliver golden hair in various directions as she climbed the steps, no matter how much she had brushed or braided it, Aemma always had unruly wild tresses. She was now disheveled once she had found herself within the courtyard in a few mere moments.

Aemma could no longer find peace, a manner to soothe her thoughts. She ached to see Firedancer but she and her brothers had been under watchful eye after the death of her father.

She could hear footsteps upon the smoothed stone, the gentle tap of boots against its surface. There he was, behind her, a mere shadow bathing in the sunlight was Aegon. Bathed in golden light and askew in his riding leathers, Aegon was somehow a shadowy, unwelcome figure. She did not know what to make of his presence.

Aemma turned, her breath catching as she stumbed back, hitting the stone ledge where she watched her two brothers below. With her back to them, she began, refusing to meet his urgent and welcoming eyes, "I-I did not a receive a raven."

Aegon found his words quickly. She did not know how he had found his way through Driftmark so quickly or how he had found her. "I understood that it was a matter of great urgency. . . ," Aegon leaned forwards, his breath hot and stained with wine, "I did not wish for my mother to know. I am here on behalf of my father, the King, and to provide my comforts and condolences to whom will be my wife."

"I do not need your comforts," Aemma declared growing more and more unsettled knowing the divsions of their house and the discomfort it would unravel upon her mother in her grieving. "I doubt that there is much to learn from your habits. My father has passed and, you are hours late to offer your condolences, you missed the funeral."

"I could not get away."

"You are not clever Aegon, I'm sure it is known where you are."

"Yet it is allowed."

"Hmph, that is most discerning regarding the vile insults you levied."

"Is everything alright sister?" Jacearys had asked from below. Both he and Lucerys had stoped their sparring and looked above, dotting their attention to Aemma.

"Aegon has arrived," Aemma told them.

"Why would he be here—," Luke spoke, his face riddled with confusing, only to recive a jab from his older brother to shut up.

"I must make my leave, brothers. . . ," Aemma spoke her voice echoing across the courtyard and Aemma turned towards the prince, hiking up her skirts. "I shall see you at dinner, Aegon."

Aemma found his hand snaking around her elbow, tugging her back with more care than what she would have expected but his voice was rash and quick.

"Do not forget why we have been dragged into this betrothal, hm?"

"I am never going to be your, Queen. No matter political nonsense you wish to inspire being here. I may be only be one and one, a mere girl to eyes of many, but I am not a fool. I know that your grandsire sent you."

Aegon laughed. It was a laugh of asumement, perhaps entertainment.

"I have no wish to rule. What kind of brother steals his eldest sister's birthright?" Aegon muttered. "My grandsire is Hand to the King, it is his duty to smother matters such as these? Even so, after the political imposition you and your brothers caused, even when my dear brother lost his eye, are you not glad?"

"I do not need your help. My brothers and I are not at fault," Aemma spat, ripping her arm harshly out of Aegon's grasp and turned her heel. In the blur of the hallway, her fast paced walking began to slow. Aemma did need Aegon to protect her family, to use as a sheild from impossible matters, to fufil her duty to her house and that was perhaps the saddest thing of all. She would never be free.