"Your Grace! Word from Tarth!" a messenger yelled, bursting into the throne room.

It had been years since Viserra's death. The smallfolk called Rhaella 'the Skystrider' because out of all the dragon riders in the family, she was the best with the dragon horns, able to make the dragons do complicated tricks in the sky.

"What is it?" Jaehaerys rosed.

"It is Prince Aemon." the messenger said, trembling as the royal family pinned him down. "A pair of Myrish scouts discovered the camp, and recognized Lord Cameron. One of them took a shot at Lord Cameron with his crossbow."

Baelon surged across the room and lifted the messenger up. "Stop being fucking dramatic. TELL US WHAT HAPPENED!"

"He—He missed Lord Tarth. But Prince Aemon, who had been standing by Lord Cameron's side, was struck in his throat, and drowned in his own blood." the messenger yelled out in fear.

Baelon dropped him to the floor, stunned.

"Uncle Aemon is dead?" Rhaella said softly. She couldn't believe it.

But she felt great sadness for Rhaenys. Aemon had been so excited to meet his grandchild and now—

He will never meet his grandchild. Rhaella thought sadly..

Baelon, enraged at his brother's death, had left for Tarth on Vhagar, and burned all the Myrish ships. When the Evenstar and Lord Boremond's forces descended upon the Myrmen, they had nowhere to escape.

The Westerosi, including Baelon wielding Dark Sister, wiped out the Myrish invaders, cutting down thousands and leaving them to rot along the beaches of Tarth.

That was just the start of the new political upheaval in the royal household.

"I slew a thousand of them, but it will not bring him back." Baelon had sobbed to Alysanne when he returned. Rhaella, standing next to her grandmother, had heard it.

Aemon's death had caused an issue with the succession, as Rhaenys was Aemon's only heir. Eventually, Baelon was chosen as his new heir, passing over Rhaenys, and, as she was pregnant, her unborn child.

"You deny me and my children my birthright!?!" Rhaenys had roared in fury before leaving for High Tide.

Rhaella never liked the Targaryen Mausoleum, located in one of the wings of Dragonstone Castle. It unnerved her, the ashes of her dead relatives, stored in jars.

Those ashes had been living, breathing people once. And that would be her fate when she died, burned into ashes and put into a jar, before tucked into the Targaryen Mausoleum, away from the sunlight and sky.

Rhaella had only worked the courage up to see her mother and and dead brother's graves.

And now she stood before her uncle's grave.

Uncle Aemon. she thought, placing a flower on his jar. She refused to glance at the ashes (the ashes that had been her uncle Aemon). This family is fracturing apart because of your death.

"Don't worry." she whispered. After all, who was there to listen but ghosts? "I'll make sure this family survives. And your line will sit on the Iron Throne one day. I promise."