"I know it hurts, auntie. Losing Luke. I miss Viserys too, but... Don't let yourself fall victim to the same madness as father did, lest you risk becoming another Maegor."
"At least Maegor knew how to deal with traitors. He broke the Faith Militant, and we will break all who challenge us."
Aemma shook her head slowly as she sank into her chair, the weight of emotional exhaustion and depletion heavy upon her. She couldn't help but think that it was a blessing her grandfather, King Viserys, was not alive to see what had become of their family, as it would have indeed broken his heart. She could see the deep mourning in Rhaenyra's eyes, a grief only a mother could understand. Despite the hurtful words spoken by her aunt, Aemma held onto the belief that they were not truly meant. With time, she hoped that Rhaenyra would find solace and begin to heal. The news of Daeron and Viserys' deaths hit her hard, but she knew her wounds would eventually mend with patience and time. Healing was a slow process but an essential one that was needed to move forward.
Within that moment, Aemma's and Rhaenyra's ladies-in-waiting, Dyana and Elinda Massey, made their way to the children: Saena, Aemon, and Baelon. Though Elinda had difficulty managing her mistress's sons due to Stormcloud's protective instincts, Dyana quietly approached Aemma and whispered into her ear. "Princess, some of the White Worm's servants said the prisoners know something," she said silently.
"And no one else suspects a thing?"
"No, uh, at least I-I don't think so... Shall I―"
"No. No, I'll take care of it, Dyana." Aemma rose from her chair. "Can you watch my daughter for me? It won't take long."
"If... As you wish, princess," Dyana said nervously, averting her eyes from the princess. She knew something was about to happen when Aemma's eyes shifted from soothing and understanding to stern and severe. If a chill hadn't crawled up and down Dyana's spine, the heat from her mistress would've made her sweat.
Aemma was confident that Saena would be well taken care of. She had complete faith in Dyana to ensure her daughter's well-being. Whether the rumors about a particular prisoner were true or false, Aemma was determined to investigate the matter personally. If the White Worm attempted to contact her via a third party, they must also be trying to reach out to her brothers as well. Aemma's once gentle and compassionate expression had now transformed into a severe, stern look in her piercing purple eyes. Beneath her stunning beauty lay the fire of a dragon, ready to emerge if her loved ones were ever threatened.
She was the blood of Old Valyria.
...she was her father's daughter.
Red Keep ― Black Cells...
Larys Strong was confined in shackles, isolated from the rest of the high-ranking leaders of the Caltrops. Despite being captured by the Young Dragon, the Clubfoot couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at being one of the few individuals in the Seven Kingdoms to have evaded him for such an extended period. With his unapologetic, cunning, and ruthless nature, through his own spy network and informants, Larys orchestrated covert operations and orchestrated schemes to undermine his enemies and further his own agenda. He played both sides of the game, pitting rival factions against each other and exploiting their weaknesses for his own gain. It made him a dangerous adversary. He had always been a master manipulator, using his charm and intelligence to gain the trust of those around him. Even in his current predicament, Larys was already plotting his next move. With his mind constantly at work, Larys plotted and schemed, using every ounce of his cunning to turn the tables in his favor.
"Lord Larys Strong."
Larys glanced upwards and spotted Princess Aemma Targaryen peering at him from behind the cell bars, her gaze icy and unwavering. Despite the situation, he flashed her a warm smile, concealing his deceitful intentions. With a firm grip on his cane, Larys fought to rise to his feet, but his severe right clubfoot made it an uphill task, causing him to drag it along the ground as he stood. "Ah. Greetings, princess. I don't get many visitors these days," he said calmly, his voice dripping with false sincerity. His eyes trace her up and down. "Still beautiful as ever. Just like your mother."