❛❛some say that the world will end in ice,
─ and others say that it will end in fire and blood.❜❜
─ I do not own Fire and Blood, I only own my characters and their plot.
❛BOOK III❜ OF THE B...
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CHAPTER SIX.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
(BY DECREE OF KING VISERYS, it was decided that Lord Rodrik's funeral pyre would take place in the capital of the Seven Kingdoms. Lord Rodrik has served his king for years, loyally. He was his kin, his beloved wife's father, his daughters' grandsire⎯ it was only proper that he is set to peace by his own kin.
As it is custom for House Arryn, a lord leaves the land of living in air, by burning the corpse and setting the ashes from the Moon Door. Alas⎯ it was decided that the pyre would take place on Aegon's Hill, just like his beloved daughter before him. His ashes would be taken to the Vale of Arryn.
Aemma was an Arryn. And a Targaryen. Her ashes, half of them were set free from the Moon Door, to honor her heritage as an Arryn woman. And the other half was interred in the Red Keep cellars alongside her Targaryen ancestors.
The Knights of The Vale did not refuse their king's summon to the Capital. But the Lady Jeyne Arryn was too grief stricken, she did not attend to her grandsire's parting. And per her wishes, she insisted that her cousin⎯ Princess Camaela, be the one to cremate the old lord.
It was no secret that Princess Camaela was Lord Rodrik's favorite grandchild. Lady Jeyne was the eldest, Princess Rhaenyra second, Willem Arryn and lastly, his little pupil, Princess Camaela.
It was only right that she be the last to wish him farewell. And the Knights of the Vale stood beside their kin, their princess, their little lady as she gave the last of her tears. )
・CAMAELA・
PRINCESS CAMAELA GRIEVED HER GRANDSIRE'S DEATH LIKE NONE BEFORE HER, because she lost her protector. She knows it in her heart that with the departure of her grandsire, she was left for the wolves.
She knows that while she is sitting on his bed, clutching his letters in her frail fingers as she reads through the words, twice and thrice. She reads every word, every phrase, every letter. They were all adressed to his daughter⎯ her mother.
Did her grandsire love her mother more than his other children?
(Her father loved her and her sister more than his second wife's offspring, she dares not admit it).
At her left, she sees his cane, made of fine wood with carved falcons. Her fingers itch slowly towards the wood, caressing the tip softly before going down. She feels the carves with her thumb first, then her other fingers. She closes her eyes tightly and begins to see flashes of her grandsire holding his cane tightly, his fingers rubbing around the carves just like she does now.
