Chapter 36

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Chapter Thirty-Six: The Glass Candle's Flame

Rhaella Targaryen sat in the silence of her chamber, the soft hum of the sea beyond Driftmark's walls carrying a sense of calm she hadn't felt in years. The faint smell of saltwater mingled with the scent of incense burning low in the corner, offering her some comfort amidst the chaos she had left behind. Her children were safe here, hidden away, but she could never truly escape the weight of their legacy. She had been on the run for so long, and the constant unease of being hunted never left her.

The door creaked open, breaking the stillness.

"Your Grace," came the voice of Lord Monford Velaryon.

Rhaella raised her head, her pale blue violet eyes cold and distant. She had become accustomed to the constant interruptions in her life. A woman of her blood, of her station, could never truly rest.

"Enter," she commanded, and Monford stepped inside, his brother Aurane Velaryon following closely behind.

"I apologize for disturbing your rest, Your Grace," Monford said with a bow. "But there is a matter that requires your attention."

Rhaella raised an eyebrow, her tone skeptical. "What matter?"

Monford exchanged a quick glance with Aurane before replying. "An Archmaester. Archmaester Marwyn, to be precise, is here and requests an audience."

Rhaella's eyes narrowed, a flicker of suspicion flashing in them. "How did he know we were here?"

"We do not know, Your Grace," Monford said carefully, his voice steady but betraying a hint of uncertainty. "But... if you wish, we can deal with him, silence him, he is here only with his acolyte, Alleras, and his belongings. He has no means to cause harm, but his presence could be... unsettling."

Rhaella considered the offer. For a moment, the idea of silencing the Archmaester seemed appealing. But she could not let fear rule her actions now. She had already run from her past for far too long. It was time to face whatever came her way.

"No," Rhaella finally said, her voice firm. "I will see him. I wish to know what this is about."

Monford nodded, and the three of them made their way down the cold stone corridors of Castle Driftmark. The castle, though grand in its design, had the air of a place abandoned by time. Shadows lingered in every corner, and the wind outside howled with the ever-present chill of the sea.

They arrived at Marwyn's chambers, where the Archmaester and his acolyte were busy unpacking his belongings. Archmaester Marwyn, a short and squat figure with enormous hands, a thick chest and a hard ale-belly, with a shock of wild, white hair and sharp features, turned as the door opened. His eyes lit up with some surprise but quickly regained their usual cold calculation.

"Your Grace," Marwyn greeted her, his voice smooth and measured. "I did not expect you so soon."

Rhaella did not waste time with pleasantries. "How did you know we were here?" she asked, her tone unwavering.

Marwyn's lips curled upward ever so slightly. "I have... means of seeing things beyond the scope of ordinary men. A glass candle, for instance, can show visions of things from far away."

Rhaella's gaze hardened. "I do not believe you. I know nothing of this 'glass candle.' How could you know we were here?"

Monford stepped forward, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. "We would appreciate the truth, Archmaester. No more games."

Marwyn raised his hands, seemingly unbothered by the threat. "I understand your skepticism, my lord," he said, looking at Monford with a faint smirk. "But I will prove it to you."

Without another word, he gestured to his acolyte, Alleras, who placed a large candle which seems to be made of dragon glass in the center of the room. It was nothing remarkable at first glance—just a large, delicate vessel. Alleras whispered something under his breath, and Marwyn did the same. The flicker of a flame sparked, then settled into a steady burn.

Rhaella, Monford, and Aurane watched with rapt attention as the flame of the glass candle began to shift.

"I will show you," Marwyn muttered, his voice low. "Look into the flame."

Rhaella stepped forward, her eyes narrowed. She had nothing to lose by indulging the Archmaester, and yet the very idea of such a thing unsettled her.

The moment she peered into the flame, the world around her seemed to shift. The room faded, and for an instant, Rhaella could see through the eyes of the flame itself.

A yard in Winterfell. A crowd of people gathered around two men sparring—one of them familiar.

Jon Snow.

She recognized him instantly, he looked so much like Rhaegar but with different coloring. Tall for boy his age, with the same brooding expression that so often graced his father's face in his youth. He was holding a battle-axe, his grip steady and determined as he faced a much larger man—the one they were calling Ser Walder.

Rhaella's heart tightened. Ser Walder was enormous, far larger than Robert Baratheon had ever been, yet he moved with terrifying speed and strength. The hammer in his hands crashed through the air with brutal force, but Jon… Jon was like a shadow, moving around the much larger man with uncanny grace.

Rhaella's thoughts swirled. This is what my son Rhaegar must have seen before he died. She remembered hearing about the Battle of the Trident, the vision of Rhaegar's death, the monstrous Robert Baratheon crashing down upon him.

Her breath hitched as Jon made his move. With a single strike, he knocked the hammer from Ser Walder's hands and pressed his own battle-axe to the large man's neck. The spar was over.

But then, something extraordinary happened.

Jon's head turned, and Rhaella's blood froze in her veins. His gaze met hers, as if he saw her standing there, staring into the flame. She could feel his eyes on her, burning with an intensity that took her breath away.

And then, just as quickly as it had begun, the flame flickered and went out.

The room was silent for a long moment.

Marwyn was the first to speak. "I… have never seen that happen before. The candle shouldn't just go out like that and Why would the glass candle show Jon Snow?"

Rhaella's heart pounded. She did not know why, but she was glad to have seen him. Her grandson. And though she would never speak of it, the resemblance to Rhaegar—the same fire in his eyes—was undeniable.

"It doesn't matter," Rhaella said softly, turning her gaze to Marwyn. "I'm glad to have seen him."

She paused for a moment, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. "And now, tell me why you are here."

Marwyn straightened, his posture becoming more serious. "I am here to help you, Your Grace. To help you and your children."

Rhaella studied him carefully. There was a glint of truth in his words.

"Very well," she said, after a long silence. "You will rest for now. We will speak again later."

Monford and Aurane accompanied her as she left Marwyn's chambers, the door closing quietly behind them.

Back in her own chamber, Rhaella sat by the window, gazing out at the dark waters of the sea. Her heart still ached with the vision of Jon, but it was a different kind of pain. She had seen him—her blood, her grandson.

He was alive. He was strong. And he would be a force to reckon with.

A part of her felt proud. Another part of her feared what his fate would be.

But for now, at least, Jon Snow—Rhaegar's son—was safe.