Instead of sleeping that night, Shera read over Aemond's notes, unable to start once she started. She lit a few candles, shoving Moongeist over in bed. "Taking up too much room, bubby," she huffed, sitting cross legged and stacking some blankets and pillows into a makeshift book stand. Finally, after adjusting the candles position a few times, she could finally see. She began to read.
'Ser Symeon was known to wield a long staff with blades at both ends and would spin it in his hands to chop down two men at once.' the text said. Aemond had written, very crudely and sloppily; 'Ask Criston about double ended staves. What about double ended morningstars? Is there such a thing?'
Between notes and annotations, he would have pieces of plain parchment shoved between the pages. Upon it were no words, but drawings. They started simply, a shaky depiction of a box, an etching of a vase in charcoal. As the years progressed through the book, his drawings improved. He never strayed from the medium of simple charcoal on parchment, but they were still very good.
Shera tilted her head, inspecting the folded papers. She wouldn't have expected Aemond to be the artistic one, she always thought Helaena to take up that mantle with her intricate embroidery of various insects and beyond. But these were on par with etchings pressed into a maester's journal, or something displayed in a posh palace in Essos. She realized that besides a creative outlet, these served another purpose— it hit her quickly, he used drawing as a way to train his lone eye back into a sense of depth perception and attention to detail. Those two things were what Shera suffered with immensely, still. As adept as she'd become with sewing, she still pricked her finger or accidentally sewed into her skin because she couldn't see the correct position of the needle. Her designs for her clothes were intricate but hardly ever symmetrical and never able to be duplicated.
It was so... smart. It was so smart of Aemond to pick up the skill of drawing, something so inherently reliant on sight, to train himself back to some sense of regularity. It was so... Aemond.
Shera clenched her hand, her nails sinking into her palm. Why didn't she think of that? Why didn't she do anything— her sewing was hobbyistic at best and not nearly enough to train her eyesight. She'd spent all that time wallowing in self-pity instead of doing something.
She felt an acute feeling of despair, then. I should have written to him more. I should've bombarded him with letters and given him no choice but to reply. I should've pried to Helaena to see what he was doing beyond niceties.
Letting out a sigh, she pushed those thoughts away.
Out of curiosity, she flipped to the end of the tome and looked for the latest drawing. Three pieces of paper fell from the back, onto her lap.
Opening the first one, it was a depiction of Helaena holding Maelor near the window. There were streams of light coming through the window and the sun was shining, not a cloud in the sky. Maelor was smiling, his chubby fist held out to the curtain, the small indent of his dimpled cheeks even visible. The detail was... exquisite, it was like looking at a mirror of such a situation.
Opening the second one, it was smeared with charcoal dust. Unlike the first drawing, this one took up the entirety of the page. It was hard to discern for Shera what she was looking at, at first. Leaning more to the light, it became clear. It was a portrait of Vhagar, evident in the pallor of her scales and lack of horns. Each scale was detailed impeccably, some wrought with scars and marks from her old age. The sag of her throat was held up in regard, her teeth jagged and crooked, opening in a sneer or even a laugh.
Shera imagined what Vhagar's laugh would sound like— something out of children's stories, like a cackling witch, smoke billowing from her nostrils as she swirled a cauldron of bubbling green ichor. It made her giggle, the thought of Vhagar hobbling from a hut in the woods with a cane made of gnarled oak, waving away the children who dared to set foot on her property. She would need to tell Aem— someone about her depiction some day.
She never did have the chance to see Vhagar up close, as much as she had wanted to. Aemond had promised to take her for a ride when it was daytime, so she could see the expanse of the ocean from the sky. But he never did. He wasn't able to. Something in her heart clenched as she thought of the fact that Aemond only got one ride upon Vhagar with his full sight, one ride upon his destiny while he was still whole. Before it was taken from him— from... both of them.
She unfolded the third paper. It was a drawing of a woman, someone Shera didn't recognize. But they... felt familiar. The woman had billowing curls and a snarky smile on her face, eyes lit up with fire and fervor. The positioning of the piece made it feel like she was looking back to someone— her arm outstretched in an offering, as if to beckon the person looking towards them.
Shera wasn't sure what to make of it— the other two drawings had been something she knew and could understand. But she didn't understand this one. She wondered who the woman was, even after she'd drifted to sleep.
—
"Shera, are you warm?" Helaena asked softly as she observed Shera fanning herself with her hand, while Moongeist was panting furiously.
"She 'ought to be," Aegon grumbled, arms folded over his chest as he looked out the slats of the wheelhouse window. "She's still dressed like she's in the North. Winter isn't coming down here, Shera. You can take off the fur."
"... a bit warm, yes," Shera muttered, narrowing her gaze at Aegon. It wasn't simply just the climate temperature, but the fact that there were so many people in this wheelhouse at present, all warm bodies exuding heat.
Helaena had Maelor on her lap with Aegon to her right, and the twins to her left, who were constantly swapping seats. Aemond was sitting across from Helaena and next to Shera. He tried to give her as much room as possible, but their thighs were still touching. Moongeist was sitting on the floor, riding out the bumps.
"Who's bloody idea was it to stuff all of us into one wheelhouse?" Aegon continued, a bit crabby due to his lack of wine.
"We're almost there, Aegon. You can stop your whining at any time." Aemond finally uttered. He had been quiet the whole ride up to the Kingswood, focusing solely on looking out the window.
"I will stop whining when there is a breeze, a bottle in my hand and that dog is about ten feet away from me," the oldest prince huffed. "He smells."
"Aegon, you smell bad on the best of days. Moongeist just needs a bath— do you even know what those are?" Shera interjected, coming to her wolf's defense in a heartbeat.
Helaena, Maelor and the twins giggled heartily. Aemond cracked a grin at the joke.
"Uncle Aemond should dunk you in the river again, kepa," Jaehaerys tittered, still laughing away. "You might catch a fish in your mouth again!"
Aegon rolled his eyes and sighed— his lips perking up into a soft smile. "Maybe Uncle Aemond and the dog can fish in the river instead. Isn't that what wolves do? Catch fish?"
"... that's bears," Shera said with an unamused tone.
The wheelhouse came to a creaking stop and Aegon was the first outside. Moongeist was next, followed by Maelor, then the twins.
Helaena helped Shera down the steps, Aemond behind her.
In a turn of events, Shera unclasped the fur stole from her shoulders, as well as the outer layer of her dress, tossing it back into the wheelhouse. She instantly felt lighter, the breeze cooling her shoulders. She had on a gray silk dress with cutout shoulders and a high throat clasp. It was flowy, almost weightless material. She adjusted her hat, which was a gift from Helaena. It was a sun hat with a veil sewed around it, coming down just below Shera's jawline.
"Ah, finally, you look somewhat like Shera and not a furred beast," Aegon whistled, walking backwards towards the clearing.
"I don't wish to be encumbered any more than I already am in the wilderness. If I am chased by a boar, I don't need ten pounds of fabric weighing me down."
"If you're chased by a boar, then we will be eating roasted boar that very night, won't we, Moongeist?" Hela cooed to the wolf, who was letting Maelor climb on his back.
"It feels strange," Aemond murmured behind Shera, his hand ghosting over the small of her back to help guide her, as Moongeist was playing nanny to Maelor– which she didn't entirely mind. "To be back here after all of this time– all of us."
"Except Daeron," Shera reminded him gently, her hand going down to pat Moongeist on pure instinct, but upon realizing he wasn't there, she let out a noise of discontentment, her hand going to her chest to rest upon her furs, which weren't there either. "Ugh, I don't know what to do with my hands when I'm walking alone."
"Moongeist is the new Daeron," Aegon called back, now having Jaehaera upon his shoulders, while Jaehaerys was on Helaena's shoulders. "I'm sure your dog can squire just as good as Daeron, anyhow."
"You could always hold Aemond's hand, Shera, like you used to," Hela giggled, Aegon howling in turn.
"Oh, please, you didn't get me anything for my nameday, brother– count this as my gift if you and Shera skip through the flowers hand in hand!"
Aemond scowled. "If my niece weren't upon your shoulders, brother, you'd be on the ground, preferably with a black eye."
Aegon stuck his tongue out mockingly and Jaehaera imitated him.
Soon enough, the troupe was sitting down in a grassy clearing, blanket over the dirt. The twins were stained blue already from the amount of blueberries they consumed, laying on their backs in the sun like two turtles.
Aegon had managed to open a bottle of wine, sipping on it frequently while snacking on cheese and crackers.
Helaena had a leaf insect crawling on her fingers, murmuring to herself as she observed it carefully. "They do not bleed... the mulberry leaves, they walk, animated upon mine hand... when crushed, they do not bleed, no blood... the leaves have no blood," she hummed, the foliage-like creature.
"Do they change color with the seasons, Hela?" Shera asked as she, too, watched the bug.
"Yes, they do," the princess replied, violet eyes not moved from the insect. "In Winter, they die and crumble like the leaves, becoming gray and desiccated under the earth... but they're just sleeping."
"Mumma, mumma, tadboles," Maelor squealed as Moongeist padded into the clearing with the toddler upon his back. "There's... tadboles!"
Helaena was snapped from her reverie by his squeak. She extended her hand to offer the bug to Shera for a moment before an expression akin to recognition came over her face. "I'll... put him back on the plant." she murmured low.
Shera thought about her... disassociation spell from the previous day while staring up at the sky. They were in an enclosed clearing with tall trees all around them, the scent of pine sap wafting through the air. She watched birds pass overhead in the sky— they looked like robins, always in a flock.
There was a large, dead tree near the edge of the forest. Its bark was stripped from its trunk, laden with woodpecker holes, cracked and splintered. It had a larger opening in it, showing that it was hollow inside. She wondered if a family of raccoons lived there.
Turning her head to another part of the Kingswood, she felt that waft of breeze over her face again, just like yesterday. The same cream colored blur whizzed past her without any noise, merely the sensation of movement. She tried to follow its path, jolting up suddenly with alarming speed.
She lost track of it.
Putting a hand to her head, she groaned. She sat up way too fast, sending her brain into a tizzy. Glancing around, everyone else was gone— save for Aemond, who was staring at Shera.
"Where did they go?" she asked, her mind suddenly off of the creature evading her vision and moreso focused on the fact that everyone was gone.
"They left half an hour ago, Shera," Aemond said, a brow raised. "They went to the creek."
"Oh." Half an hour ago?
"Helaena said you do this," he continued. "Disassociating?"
"It's... new. I think." she muttered, pulling her legs up to her chest.
"You should go to a maester about that."
"Mm. And why are you still here?" she tried to ask politely, but it ended up coming out a bit harshly.
"Well, I couldn't very well leave you alone here while you were... occupied. That'd be depraved indifference." he huffed.
"Depraved indifference? Like leaving a dog tied up outside in a storm?" she grumbled, digging a finger into the dirt. "Is it so hard for you to say you care about me?" she uttered suddenly, slightly mortified that it came out of her mouth without thinking. Well, I suppose the cat is out of the bag now.
Aemond stared at her, the pupil of his eye waned to a slit. His jaw clenched and the corner of his mouth twitched. "I don't need to say it for it to be true," he said. "Words mean nothing, they're empty and meaningless. Actions are everything— keep that in mind."
"You write a lot for someone who says words are empty and meaningless," she pressed, the flare of indignation broiling in her— something that only surfaced when talking to Aemond.
"You misunderstand me, Shera," he said her name like a blessing and a curse, his lip twitching again. "Someone can say all they like. That they care, that they will do something, that they will fix something— but their words are empty unless they actually do it."
Her eye drifted once more, seeing the cream blur dive into the forest. She didn't know what came over her, her limbs spurring into action as she got up with a start, bolting after it. She heard Aemond's garbled voice behind her as she ran through the forest, eye unable to focus on it, but she could see it. Glimpses of it, calling to her as it bobbed and weaved through the branches.
Shera, Shera. She heard the whispers of some unfamiliar being in the back of her mind like an itch, a buzz at the base of her skull. It was calling to her, pulling her to it. She lost her shoes somewhere along the way, bare feet traipsing on the ground, cutting into jagged rock and sharp branches.
Aemond's voice was more urgent now, but she still couldn't understand what he was saying. And she... she was outrunning him. She felt like a doe, agile and free and the pain of her feet, bleeding and punctured, didn't even bother her.
Come, come, little wolf! Come.
The dark of the forest let up into a wide expanse of blue sky, blue sky and the scent of the ocean... the blur was gone and all she felt was open air as she skidded off of the cliff. It was freeing, those splinters of wings bursting through her elytra, cracking and flitting. She treaded nothingness...
Then her wrist snapped, pulled right out of its socket as she was yanked back, her ears ringing as the adrenaline died down. The breeze of the sea stopped as she was enveloped in warmth, in fire. She glanced up– Aemond was staring down at her with a wide eye, hair sticking to his forehead with the sheen of sweat.
"What the... fuck, Shera?" he breathed, his chest heaving. "Are you trying to kill yourself?"
"No– n... no," she croaked in turn, her uninjured hand grasping into the leather of his doublet with such force that her knuckles were white, veins bulging against her skin. "The... it..." her tongue felt tied, throat dry as the pain of everything caught up to her at once. Her bleeding feet, her ballooning lungs that couldn't catch enough oxygen, her dislocated wrist, hand aloft at an odd angle.
Moongeist barked somewhere in the distance, howl echoing through the forest.
She did not remember much after that.
—
The next moon was quiet for Shera as she recovered from her outing. The maesters set her wrist back into place and set it taut with a sling. Her feet were bandaged and she was prescribed bed rest for at least a week. They tried to give her milk of the poppy, but she refused– she couldn't stand how it made her head swim, swim more than it already did.
Cregan blamed Aemond, threatening to take Shera back to Winterfell until the wedding. Rhaenyra calmed him, citing that Shera wouldn't go out of the keep without a more attentive chaperone.
Once she was mostly recovered, lunched with Helaena every day and watched Aemond spar with Criston every other morning– but she usually hid behind the ramparts to where he wouldn't see her– she felt oddly shy about watching him. She hadn't had any disassociation spells, nor saw anything of the mystery blur. However, she did have Ser Erryk Cargyll as her sworn sword, issued by Rhaenyra herself.
She hated being followed, being observed under a lens like she was a child. Indignation broiled in her chest– but one eve, while passing Aemond in the hall, he didn't say anything to her. They hadn't spoken since the incident, where Shera was fairly sure that Aemond was convinced she tried to kill herself by jumping off the cliff– she wanted to explain that wasn't the case, to explain everything she'd been experiencing. But he would think her mad. Surely.
She pulled herself out of the corset after, slipping into a more comfortable, loose fitting garment. Shera had sent away her maids and told them not to return until the morn. She didn't wish to be fretted and pulled at like a sickly hen, feathers plucked before the slaughter.
Slowly, she untangled the veil from her hair and set it aside. Fingers gliding through her braids, she let her hair fall in curled tresses down her back, resting well past her bottom once it was all out.
The last thing to come off was her leather choker— she placed it on her boudoir, the tips of her nails ghosting over the still prominent scar there. She abhorred looking in the mirror, seeing nothing but a banshee looking back.
Even though she had retired to her chambers, she didn't sleep. She found it hard to sleep most nights and ended up pacing. It was late in the night and most of the Keep were asleep, save for the occasional guard. She found it the perfect time to sneak out to the tunnels that crisscrossed throughout Maegor's Holdfast.
She wished to test and see if she truly remembered the path that led to the water gardens— which she hoped still sparkled just as wondrously under moonlight as they did before.
Moongeist was curled up atop her bed, snoozing away. He worked so hard to guide Shera that she loathed to wake him, so she didn't. She wasn't completely hopeless without her wolf guide, but it could be teetering on the edge of stupidity, to wander the dimly lit secret corridors without her safety net. Stupidity that masked itself in bravery in her mind.
Glancing back at her veil and choker, she left them behind as she descended into the tunnel— she would be out of sight, and wished to let herself breathe for once, uninhibited and unveiled. She pressed to the wall for balance, her nightgown fisted in one hand, the other committing the curve of the stone to her mind, for later. If her memory served her correctly, she should be passing the royal apartments and the other guest rooms.
The sound of hushed voices caught Shera's attention. In hindsight, it is rude to eavesdrop upon conversations– but she couldn't help herself.
The somewhat familiar gruff sound of Daemon's voice met her ears as they perked up, pressed against the wooden backing of a bookshelf that led to the tunnel from, what she could assume, was Rhaenyra and Daemon's chamber.
"She won't be beholden to us, Nyra," Daemon's voice whispered in an urgent, hushed tone. "She was raised under them, she has no reason to like us."
"The North is a powerful ally we need on our side once the time comes, Daemon. Cregan is already beholden to us by the oath of his father," she breathed, "This is merely another way to bring the Starks into the fold. I'd rather them be ready to defend us, Shera, at a moment's notice."
"Beyond the allegiances, the betrothals, the treaties; she is hardly a worthy vessel of Valyrian seed. A baby with dragon's blood would tear that soft bellied wolf apart. Even then, are we so sure she isn't still... in favor of Alicent's brood? You saw her with the two at the dinner."
"You're thinking too far ahead, Daemon. I suppose I do love your... farsightedness, but we must focus on nearsightedness. We will deal with the issues of the girl's mettle after I'm on my throne," Rhaenyra turned, a finger pressed to Daemon's jaw, which was clenched in agitation. "You needn't worry. If her constitution proves weak, she shan't survive the court— and any trace of allegiance she might have to my half siblings shall be snuffed out swiftly when the time comes."
Shera felt her sudden burst of confidence fester into bile rising from the back of her throat. Once the time comes? Her stomach churned– she knew that there had been tension between the two sides of the King's family but she hadn't expected such planning and cunning already, before the gauntlet had even been thrown down, before the King had even passed–
And she was a part of that plan, apparently. Moreso a link to her brother's allegiances and by extension, the North.
The tunnel she was in suddenly felt very small, like the walls were closing in on her. Panic bubbled in her chest like frothing sea water, the undercurrent threatening to drag her out to the endless expanse, water filling her lungs until they burst.
Her bare feet stumbled as she continued forward, trying to recognize any of the exits from the labyrinth, but it seemed fruitless. Tears welled, stinging and blinding her even further. She wasn't quite sure how long she had been lost for– but it felt like the better part of an hour before she finally pushed one opening forward, falling out onto the stone ground of another room in the holdfast.
Shera sniffed, her hair falling in front of her face like inky tendrils, clinging to her tear streaked face. Her knee was skinned from how hard she'd fallen, blood trickling down her skin and staining her nightgown. Glancing around, her vision was beyond fuzzy, her head spinning.
Idiot, idiot. She chastised herself further, fists supplanted into the ground, her nail beds scraping against the unforgiving stone as she attempted to pull herself up.
She hoped to every God, the old and the new, that the room wasn't occupied.
"Alicent? Alicent... is that you?"
Fuck.
Shera froze, the croaking voice directed at... her? It was like hearing the Stranger speak, whispering in her ear. Surely it was a figment of her imagination.
"Ali-cent," it spoke again, followed by a hacking cough and a drawn out moan. "My... my medicine— have... you brought it?"
Shaking her head, she ventured closer to the bed where the voice was coming from, a lone beeswax candle lit on the bedside. Some incense was also burning, an intense smell of concentrated herbs that was almost too much for even Shera— what was this? Finally reaching the bedside, she was in horror at what she saw.
Was this... the King?
He looked more corpse than human, cheeks sunken and teeth missing and blackened. His body mass was half of what it used to be— he... he was so small now, his labored breathing, moreso wheezing, wracking his body. His eye was missing.
She held back the urge to vomit as she got closer, now knowing what the incense mask was for. He smelled terrible— complete of death and rot, as if his body was already withering and decaying. It was on par with the scent of a dead elk she and Moongeist had found a few years before while exploring just outside of Winterfell. Its body was bloated and stinking, maggots writhing from the orifices of its body. It was one of the most disgusting sights she'd ever seen— 'twas tainted meat, as the ravens and foxes wouldn't even touch it.
The King— Viserys the Peaceful. He was no more a king presently, akin more to fodder for vultures. No, she didn't think that vultures would taint themselves with his rotten flesh.
She peered on. Viserys wasn't much older than Daemon, was he? And... as much as she hated to admit it, Daemon was only just past his prime, mayhaps still even in it. But Viserys... looked aged to about eighty or ninety, his skin liver spotted and plagued with... some disease she couldn't identify. His hair was all but gone, sticking to the skin of his skull in small patches, like a child's doll that'd been mutilated.
"... y-your grace?" Shera whispered, unsure of what to do.
"A-ah, forgive... me... dearest, there is a glint upon... your eye."
Yes, and you lack one, decrepit corpse. Shera resisted the urge to huff.
"The... the vial—,"
"This one, your grace?" she murmured, seeing a small phial of liquid. She sniffed it, the overwhelming scent of milk of the poppy hitting her nostrils.
"Mm."
She handed the medicine to him, watching him struggle to even lift his bony, gaunt hand. She brought the lip of it to his mouth, listening to him greedily drink it as if it were the most delicious of wines.
"Much... better, thank you," he breathed, putting his hand back over his forehead. "Have... you thought much more upon... Rhaenyra's proposal?"
"Her proposal, your grace?" Shera responded meekly. She still wasn't sure what to do in this situation, where the king thought she was Queen Alicent. Her hands shook as she put the empty vial back on the nightstand.
"Helaena... and Jacaerys... 'tis a fine match... it would... reunite our... the... the house of the dragon."
Gods, what year did he think it was?
"... I am still mulling it over, my king," she responded, glancing around the room for any way out.
"And... have Otto... send a raven to Lord Stark..." he wheezed. "Propose a union... between your ward... and Aemond. The North... has stayed out of the... realm for far too long..."
Aemond? There were talks of a betrothal to Aemond? Her heart began to race, even though she knew that the king's mind was at least twelve years in the past or more– the mere thought of... it could've been true, it could've happened–
She bit her lip until blood welled to the surface. Everything could have been different.
Did Alicent refuse? Was there... even a raven sent?
"Yes, your grace," she sniffed, holding back tears. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Alicent."