To see your face
And feel nothing
That would be
Peace at last
- d.j

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Most of her hair was loose, that's the first thing Rhaegon noticed as Aella walked out of the Red Keep. It framed her face like a bride's veil, scattered fragments of burnt-out stars. On another day, he would say it looked ethereal. Now, he could only describe it as the perfect personification of the Stranger himself. A reaper, a preface to the end. Lady Death. A heavy black train dragged across the floor behind her and she did not bother trying to lift her skirts. Her eyes looked too dead for her to be able to realise that was happening anyway.

Aella was the last to come out of the Keep, and in doing so she had earned everyone's stares. Her discomfort was easily shown in the way her jaw clenched and her fingers gripped the dark fabric of her bodice where her hands had rested before. Pressing tightly into her stomach, as if there was a void there she had to cover. Pleading blue eyes met Rhaegon's, and he was moving before he could even register the motions of his body. Aella's hand was cold in his – deathly so, like how he imagined a cold body would feel. Like the hands dragging him down in his dreams felt. It was a startling contrast to his skin, hot and sweating beneath the heaviness of his clothes.

"He is staring," Aella muttered to him, a hand going up to grasp his upper arm. It was then he recognised the familiar burn of lilac on his back. If he turned around, would Daemon be staring at them with rage, sorrow or jealousy? Something told him it would be all three.

In one quick step, Rhaegon put his body in front of Aella's. If he had to use his body as a shield to make her more comfortable, he would do so. Even if he had to suffer the brunt force of his older brother. A vivid memory of sticky blood running down his face, filling his nose, and blocking his throat ran a clear path across his mind. The squeeze Aella gave his upper arm was her silent thanks. When they began the walk to the litter that Aella and Aemma would be taking, Daemon's eyes followed them.

Aemma, his oldest brother's wife, was a young and pretty thing. Soft around the edges, laugh lines slightly more emphasised, but that could only point to her smiling a lot. Rhaegon did not know how she did it all the time, even after so many losses. He himself could barely seem to sleep lately, let alone show joy. She smiled once more when Aella was close enough, taking her from his arms and helping her climb into the litter. If Rhaegon noticed the trembling of his wife's shoulders and the sudden choked-out breaths, he did not say anything. If she kept it together until she was out of everyone's sight, it was clear she would not want him to say anything. All he could do was give her his own tight-lipped smile, hoping she could find some sort of comfort in it.

"Come, Rhaegon," a sombre voice called to him – gravelly as if the person had not drunk a single drop of water in days. Rhaegon turned around to stare at his grandfather; already seated in a perfectly polished leather saddle. In spite of everything, he somehow still managed to look regal. Black and silver doublet, a deep red cloak and a carefully groomed beard that grew almost to his waist. Rhaegon only nodded, ignoring the quiet crying that he could hear coming from the now-closed litter, focusing instead on the scrunching of gravel beneath his feet.

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Nothing could have prepared Aella for the sight of the tiny body wrapped in linen, placed upon a small pyre. It lay so sickeningly still there, so unlike the lively movement Aemon had always given as a child, but so frighteningly similar to how corpse-like Daella had laid in her cot during her final days. She supposed it made sense, the body in those linens was exactly that – a corpse. It should not have made her stomach churn, should not have made her want to cry so violently she could not breathe.

Her daughter's funeral pyre was dwarfed by Queen Alyssane's much larger and grander one. It was fit for a long-ruling monarch like Aella's grandmother, she supposed, but she could not even look at it. Alyssane had been old, she had lived her life, and even though Aella already missed her, it was not the same pain as losing her child.

Steps sounded from somewhere behind her and she tensed, afraid that the ambrosial scent of leather, faint smoke and citrus would invade her senses. Rhaegon drew her closer, and her fear grew worse. She had expected Daemon's silky smooth voice in her ear, had expected to inhale that scent she had grown so estranged to. Instead, a wrinkled hand was placed upon her shoulder.

"Are you sure you would not like to be the one to say the word?" her grandfather asked, and Aella had to gulp heavily to prevent her voice from shaking so much. She looked up at the ceiling of the Dragonpit – Jaehaerys had decided upon the funeral site, Aella just could not be bothered to argue. She would have preferred her little Daella be burned beneath the blossoming spring trees, not in the home of beasts, bringers of desolation. A distant guttural screech sounded from somewhere below them.

Aella shook her head, and Jaehaerys stepped away. The voice of a septon filled the air, Aella could not bring herself to listen as he delivered Alyssane and Daella's souls to the heavens. When he stopped, a heavy call of 'māzigon' soon followed. Heavy thudding broke the once peaceful silence as Vermithor crawled towards his rider, a reptilian-like clicking sounding from his long throat. The Bronze Fury took one look at Jaehaerys before turning his head to the two pyres, as if he already knew what was expected of him before the word was even muttered.

When her grandfather finally said the command for dragon fire, it was only a broken and cracked cry barely akin to the Valyrian word. Aella did not know how he could find it in himself to be the one to send his wife away. So many decades she had stayed at his side, and now he was going to be the reason her body turned to ash.

Vermithor understood the command well enough. A heavy rumble, and then the air around them turned hot as the bright orange flame was spewed from the dragon's opened jaws. Upon the impact of flame on the pyres, tears immediately clouded Aella's vision. All she could see was the brightness of the fire as it engulfed Daella's little body. The edges of everything around her blurred, but she quickly blinked the tears away until she could see properly again. She would watch her daughter go because it was the last time she would ever see her. Just like it had been the last time she had seen her father when his body lying on the pyre instead of her little baby.

Perhaps she would see her in her dreams sometimes, as she did him, but it would never be the same as reality. Things would be wrong as her memory of her little face faded, the shrill sound of her crying would become nothing more than a fleeting grain of sand. Her father's voice was no longer a thing she could recall, and surely, it would be the same with every person she lost.

Over the flickering tendrils of fire, her eyes locked with Daemon's lilac ones. For but a moment, when she gazed upon the sorrow on his face, she thought that it may all be alright.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

The wake was but a farce crafted by her grandfather, a carefully woven lie to convince the nobles he was not teetering on the edge of a breakdown. He was the King of the Seven Kingdoms, he could not allow himself to appear weak or vulnerable, he had said. No one would have faulted him if he had simply taken a few months to collect himself, but he did not do that. He forced himself to smile, and Aella forced herself to at least keep a neutral face. It was the least she could do, she told herself, to not force her grandfather to look upon her tear-stricken face longer than he had to.

She had not touched the food and had only taken a few sips of wine to dull her senses a bit. Listening to the music helped a little, as did watching the guests dance and twirl on the floor below the high table. She did not get up once.

Rhaegon had stayed with her for most of the time, but when Viserys got too far into his cups, Aemma dragged him onto the dance floor. She would not sit out on a chance to have fun, even if this was a wake. She wanted to celebrate Alyssane's life, she had claimed, smart enough to not mention Daella's name at all. There was no doubt in Aella's mind that she would have broken down then and there if she did. After that, she had sat alone for a while, until Rhaenys and Corlys had come to keep her company. It was an easy-going conversation, the three of them could take about everything – anything – and never blink an eye.

"I would take you onto the dance floor, sister, if you would only ask," Corlys had said at one point. A kind offer, but Aella had to refuse. He had nodded, a sad smile on his lips. If there was one thing Corlys was good at, it was bringing her comfort, and his subtle attempts at making her even slightly happy – or at the very least, content. Eventually, even he and Rhaenys left her alone.

Looking back, she should have expected it. Should have known he would seek her out eventually. Should have made sure she was always with someone. Still, when the chair beside her was pulled out and Daemon dropped into it with all his elegance and cocky attitude, she had been surprised.

There was a small upturn in the corner of his lips, a ghost of a smile, but not quite the grin he had often given her years earlier. His hair was shorter, chopped close to his head and slicked back from his face. Aella frowned upon the realisation. Before, she had not bothered to look at him properly.

"You cut your hair," she said, barely a greeting, but an acknowledgement. By the slightly relieved sagging of Daemon's shoulders, he was glad she had shown him it. Perhaps he had expected her to ignore him or to get up and leave.

"I did," he nodded, not saying anything else. Aella raised her brow, lifting her glass of wine to her lips. The Arbor red slid down her tongue like a sweet caress. Her muttered why made Daemon's small smile grow by a fraction. "Because my lady wife preferred it long." The way he said the words seemed like pure venom. Aella would be lying if she said it did not make her the slightest bit glad. Even after all these years, the thought of Daemon in someone else's bed made her stomach coil with jealousy. He had never truly been with her, not in the way lovers would be. They had kissed once before he had flown off to Dragonstone and she had married his brother.

"I take it you don't like Lady Rhea then?" It had been rhetorical, meant to incite his laugh. The deep and velvety sound that had always made goosebumps run up her arms. Daemon shook his head, then leaned slightly towards her.

"I would have preferred another." Aella had to swallow and move her gaze away from his. It was too heated, too interwoven with anticipation and want. Pure need. When she looked back, Daemon had leaned away again, face utterly expressionless. As if he had not just implicitly told her he still craved her. As if he did not make her heart beat faster with one look.

There was a sudden heat in the pit of her stomach that she had to fight to control. "I am afraid I still have a husband." A heavy puff of air escaped Daemon, something like a scoff and a laugh mixed.

"Yes, and look at how your life has turned out," he muttered, raking his eyes over the gauntness of her face, the dark circles beneath her eyes. She did not let his words get to her. "You could have taken me when I offered. We could have taken Karnax and Caraxes and gone to any of the free cities. We could have been happy there together."

Aella laughed dryly, humourlessly. "You had offered too late, Daemon," she argued with a shake of her head. "I was already married, close to term. Seven hells, I had gone into my labours that very same night! You should have come for me the moment Grandfather told you that we could not marry. Taken me to a sept and gotten us wed. Instead, you flew off to Dragonstone."

"I was angry! I let my emotions get the better of me," he said it with the most regret she had ever heard from him. "I had beaten Rhaegon bloody then, did you know that? I hated myself the moment I calmed down. It was not even his fault, and I hit him until his nose ran like a river of red." If this was supposed to comfort her in some way, it was utterly failing. Daemon looked away from her, clenched his jaw so tight she was surprised his teeth did not break. His hands were held in tight fists too, and when he uncurled them, she saw harsh indents in his palm put there by his nails. "After that, I could not bear to come and get you."

"So you just let it happen." A heavy moment of silence sat between them. His confirmation, and her quiet acceptance. "And then you came when it was too late." Slowly she pushed her chair out, standing in a way that would seem calm and collected to any onlookers. Daemon did not even meet her eye, only stared down at the table with his head leaning on his fist.

When Aella turned around to leave, he muttered one more thing to her. "I loved you." It was a far cry from his usual strong and arrogant demeanour, like a little boy deprived of his mother's care. She looked back at him for a few seconds.

"I know." She did not look back again.