Still cradling the babe in her arms, Rhaenyra walked the corridors with a dazed expression.
Every corner, every window, carried memories of her mother. And now, more than ever, those memories hurt. A stinging pain that pierced her chest.
She looked back towards her brother, who was deep in his sleep once more. She studied his features, and the more she did, the more he resembled her mother.
Rhaenyra cried silent tears once more.
She dried those tears with the sleeve of her dress and continued walking with steady steps.
As she made her way towards the gate of the Red Keep, she ended up crossing paths with her friend Alicent.
Alicent looked at Rhaenyra with a sad and compassionate look. Having experienced the same, as her mother, lady Alyrie Florent, had recently passed as well.
She walked over and hugged Rhaenyra, though mindful of the child she carried in her arms. "I'm so sorry, Rhaenyra…"
Rhaenyra shook her head softly, keeping her composure, as her father had instructed her. "You needn't apologize, Alicent. This… it was not your fault," she attempted to comfort her friend.
Alicent looked at her friend. "Rhaenyra, you don't need to keep up appearances with me, you know? I understand the pain of your loss." She took a deep breath; her voice grew a bit shaky. "You were also there for me when my own mother passed. You comforted me in my grief. Let me do the same for you."
Rhaenyra smiled, a genuine smile. "Thank you, Alicent, truly."
Alicent returned the smile with one of her own. "If not this, then what are best friends for then?"
Rhaenyra giggled. "Walk with me?"
Alicent nodded, and together they made their way to the gates.
When they arrived, they were met with the procession meant for the late Queen Aemma.
Dozens of influential lords who had come for the tournament were present. Their colorful clothes indicated their wealth, and each had their house's coat of arms embroidered in their tunics—or in the case of the ladies, their dresses.
Viserys approached his daughter and son. He ran his hand along the silver hair of Rhaenyra, with the rare warmth of a father. Shifting the cloth a bit, in order to see his son more clearly, he smiled a bit and pinched the nose of the child, earning himself an annoyed grumble of the sleeping babe.
"Ready?" Viserys asked, shifting from his fatherly persona to the King of Westeros.
Rhaenyra nodded. "Ready."
"Good," he said. "Syrax has already been brought to the location, as you have asked."
Rhaenyra made a small hum of acknowledgment.
"All that is left… Is for us to accompany your mother on her last journey," Viserys said in a sad tone.
"Then let us not keep her waiting then…" Rhaenyra almost whimpered those words out.
Viserys nodded, but before anything else, his gaze shifted towards Alicent. "I thank you for being by my daughter's side at this moment. You are a good friend."
Alicent curtsied. "You flatter me, Your Grace, but I am only doing what anyone else would do." She said with all the grace befitting a noble lady of a House as renowned as the Hightowers.
Otto, in the distance, smiled at his daughter's composure. His eyes shone with a calculating light as his gaze travelled from Viserys to Alicent and back to Viserys again.
'Something to work on later,' he thought quietly.
The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Ryam Redwyne, shifted closer to the royal family, his hand never leaving the hilt of his sword.
Viserys turned and waved his hand, high in the air, signaling the start of the procession.
The cart that dragged Queen Aemma's wrapped-up body was filled with flowers, mainly the ones Viserys had said Aemma preferred during her life. The flowers cradled her body, lessening slightly the somber and heavy sight. On the edges rested the bodies of a couple of falcons, the majestic birds having been sacrificed specifically to honor Aemma's Arryn heritage.
White horses dragged her cart; their hooves clicked against the stone on the ground.
The procession moved forward, making its way through King's Landing.
That day, all of the populace gathered, and wherever Aemma's body passed, people would kneel and clasp their hands together in prayer—wishing for the Queen to find peace in the embrace of the Seven.
A few citizens had noticed Rhaenyra carrying Antarys, yet, under the stern gaze of the City Watch, also known as the Golden Cloaks, people refrained from causing a commotion on that sad day.
Soon enough, they arrived at a hill that overlooked the city and sea alike.
At the centermost point of the hill lay a massive pyre, meant for Queen Aemma.
The septons of the Seven lifted Aemma and gently, yet reverently, placed her atop the pyre. The flowers still cradled her, and the falcons were still to accompany her in a final flight across the skies.
All of those who were present circled the pyre, taking their places to watch the funeral.
Syrax was farther away. Flanked by dragonkeepers that seemed to be eager to leave for some reason. Something that displeased the King, but at this moment, he chose to remain silent and address that at a later time.
Daemon came closer, and he stood beside his brother, niece, and a newborn nephew. Daemon cursed the child inwardly, since if he survived, the babe effectively robbed him of any chance of taking the throne.
So, in the true fashion of the Rogue Prince, Daemon smirked and said something offensive, not knowing those words would later haunt him.
"I see you've managed to get your long-awaited heir, brother," Daemon said, making Viserys frown, as the King heard his brother's treacherous tone. "And all you had to exchange for it was the life of your wife… I am envious, you know? I wish I could get rid of mine that easily." He smiled spitefully.
Viserys ground his teeth in anger. He wanted nothing more than to see his brother's head flying high in the air.
Rhaenyra bit her lip as she heard her uncle's venomous words. Her heart wavered between anger and hurt.
Rhaenys shook her head at her foolish cousin.
Behind the King, Ser Redwyne, began to draw his sword.
Viserys raised his hand, stopping the Lord Commander. "Not here, Ser Redwyne. I do not wish to spill blood on my wife's funeral."
The knight nodded and sheathed his sword.
Daemon's grin faltered as he heard his brother's tone. But before he could apologize or salvage the situation, an angry and young voice resounded across the hill.
"Dracarys, Syrax!" Rhaenyra exclaimed.
Syrax, hearing her rider's command, inhaled deeply and spewed golden flames towards the pyre.
They all watched silently as the corpse and the wood burned.
Neither Rhaenyra nor Viserys cried, not wanting to give Daemon the satisfaction. Even small Antarys, after waking up, kept quiet, as if he knew the weight of the moment.
Viserys turned to Rhaenyra. "Come. Let us return to our home."
And thus they left, as smoke rose high in the sky, and Aemma was no more.