Burn me • Aemond Targaryen

Demons

Chapter Eighty-Eight~Demons

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

She couldn't describe it.

The feeling that absorbed her heart, mind and soul was not sad, not angry.

She felt nothing.

She still sat on the shores of Harrenhall with Aemond in her lap. Waiting for the chance that his eye might open or his mouth might move.

But that wasn't going to happen.

She had sat with him now for near an hour, his body had gone cold and his cheeks had lost colour.

The wind blew against her cheeks, they were still raw and red from her tears. Her purple eyes stung from all the pain that had escaped in liquid form and her heart beat had slowed to a taunting beat like a drum settled before a funeral pyre.

Her heart was tugging and her stomach churning but her mind couldn't send out a strong enough message for anything to happen. She just sat, broken like shards of glass on the sandy shores.

Vermithor had settled behind her, watching his rider intently as she sat with her other half, and even the dragon seemed lost in what to do.

Things had changed now. Her husband was dead and all of her children had gone.

She was losing time.

This wasn't Aemond, it was just his body.

His souls had died and taken hers with it, all that lived now was her physical and common sense.

Rhaella stood on wobbly legs, numb down to the bone due to her stolen husband, but she stood never the less.

She lay each of his arms over the other and straightened his legs. Around his neck sat a stone, a sharp rock tied to a leather loop.
She scoffed when she saw it.

She had made it for him after his eye had been taken, as a naive way of believing he could use it to defend himself.

He had insisted he would keep it, but at the time it did not so seem so grand after the sword their Grandfather gifted him.

But he had kept it.

And she wanted it back, a small part of their life to keep with her whilst he no longer was. Her hands were shaky when she reached for it, and her breath was heavy when she pulled it over his neck and over her own.

Rhaella smiled softly, then a sob broke from her cage of sorrow at the sight of her husband.

But she didn't let it stop her from standing. Her arms were cut and her legs too, she ached almost everywhere. There was a cut on the top of her head and she felt the blood drying against her skin.

Aemond seemed peaceful in death, his eyes closed and his expression almost soft.
Like he was sleeping.

She dragged any branches, leaves and twigs she could find, and set them into a pile on the shores of the lake. She cut herself numerous times on sharp pieces of wood, and stung her hands on nettles and thorns.

Both she and Aemond were perfectionists, so she made it her business to set up his death carriage perfectly, not to seemed wrong.

Her body was weak, but with everything she had in her she pulled him over and set him onto the makeshift pile. She journeyed from the water and back to him with cups of water in her hands to wash the dirt and blood from his body. She even styled his hair, knowing how fussy he was about it.